You Are Not Alone In This
by 8moonflower8
Summary: Powered AU, 1800s England. Charles is perfectly content with his life: his home, work, sister, fiance. He is happy. Until a weekend spent with Mr and Mrs Erik Lehnsherr changes it all.
1. Chapter 1

Charles was actually happy.

Everyone expected him to be of course: he had a steady income, a more than adequate home, respect, a loving sister and fiancé. The romantic part of him wanted to disappoint them all and have some dark and mysterious secret, like an insane aunt living in his attic. But he _was_ happy, no two ways about it. And he really did have a secret, although to him it was far from dark and unpleasant.

He could hear people's thoughts.

It fascinated him; this ability he had, that – as far as he knew – nobody else did. It was something he treasured, that he wanted to study, to explore, and understand its full potential. Despite how much he enjoyed his gift, he was thankful for one thing in particular; it was easy to hide. Unlike Raven's.

He really was happy, and convinced there was nothing that could ruin this.

It was a bright but chilly afternoon in early Spring, and Charles was locked in his study, shut away behind heavy curtains, and engrossed in his ever-present paperwork. Just after three, he was interrupted by knock at his door.

"Charles?" His sister's voice, clear and bright as the weather.

"Yes, Raven?"

"You'd better be dressed." A pause. "Are you?"

Charles looked up from the mass of paperwork, lists and open books on his terminally cluttered desk to his current state of attire. He was still wearing yesterday's clothes, and could probably do with a shave.

"Umm, mostly."

"For heaven's sake Charles!" Raven shouted through the door. "They're going to be here in less than an hour. Stop hiding in your work and come and talk to people. Actual people."

"Alright, Raven." Charles pushed a pile of papers from his lap and stood up.

"And don't forget, Moira's coming too." Charles could practically feel her smirking through the door. "You want to look handsome and dashing for her, don't you?"

"For God's sake." Charles chided, smiling all the same. "Leave me be, so I can perfect my supposed handsomeness."

"Fine. Just get dressed." He heard her footsteps retreating down the hallway. "NOW."

Their guests arrived just as Charles came down the stairs, earning him an eye-roll from Raven. At least they weren't yellow – she must have been keeping her excitement in check. At times when her emotions were riding high and her concentration low, her mask could easily slip. He poked his tongue out in reply, and hoped the couple making their way up the front steps didn't notice.

They were the most... angular looking couple Charles had ever seen; both tall and straight-backed, with prominent shoulders and cheekbones. The lady's face wore a crisp smile, the gentleman's set in hard lines. He sincerely hoped their personalities were softer than their faces.

"Welcome," said Raven, stepping forward to greet them. "Charles, you remember Mr Erik Lehnsherr and Mrs Emma Lehnsherr; formerly Miss Emma Frost."

"Yes, of course." Charles switched on his charm as he smiled and took Mrs Lehnsherr's hand. "Wonderful to see you both again." Stretching the truth a little, he thought. They'd met on several occasions at balls and dances and such, but he'd never spent more than a minute in either's company. Mr Lehnsherr took his hand briefly, with a polite nod. "Won't you please come through?"

They followed a maid, Kitty, into the living room, where she began to serve tea; all nervous smiles and clinking china in the presence of their guests.

"Thank you Kitty," said Charles, accepting his cup.

And that was all he said for perhaps the next half hour or so, as Raven and Emma discussed a dance given last week, and Emma's various redecorating plans for her home in the Spring fashions. Her husband, Charles noticed, was just as silent as himself, simply nodding assent when Emma required him to do so. His face was still set in the same harsh lines as it was when they had arrived; Charles itched to know what the man was thinking. And since he had made a personal promise to never search through a person's thoughts without their permission (it often complicated things) he would have to stick to traditional methods. He took the opportunity to cut in when Raven paused to accept more tea from Kitty.

"If you don't mind, perhaps I'll give Mr Lehnsherr a tour around the lake, and the stables, if you ladies can spare us."

"Of course," Mrs Lehnsherr replied smoothly, "I've been attempting to tear him away from his work for weeks. Some time outdoors would do you good." She smiled, all angles again. "Isn't that right dear?"

"Yes darling." Lehnsherr replied, just as smoothly as his wife, behind a slightly too-big smile. "I couldn't agree more."

"Right." Charles stood. There was something not quite sincere about those smiles they shared. "If you'll excuse us then. Ladies."

During their virtually silent walk together out of the house, Charles couldn't help himself. He reached out to brush the other's mind, just lightly, to read his mood, and so prevent himself making a conversational error. But he couldn't read him. Erik's mind was closed off.

Strange...

By the time they reached the man-made lake at the back of the house, Charles had nearly recovered himself.

"Mr Lehnsherr, do you fish?" He skipped a pebble across the grey waters.

"A little."

"Do you enjoy it?"

"Not often. It's but one thing in a long list of things I am expected to do."

Charles knew the feeling well. "I see. Well, perhaps I can persuade you into some tomorrow then." He sent what he knew was a charming smile Mr Lehnsherr's way. "If only to keep up appearances."

If the twitch at the corner of Lehnsherr's mouth was anything to go by, he'd almost smiled back.

"Maybe horses interest you more?"

This time, Charles definitely received a smile, though it lacked any warmth. "Yes. I must admit I find that pastime more rewarding."

"Then follow me, my good man."

As he led Lehnsherr down towards the stables, he tried once more to feel his mind, and again only received that prickling wall of defence. This had not happened to him before: he was used to people's minds falling open as soon as he touched them, like a well-worn novel. But not this time. Was it possible that Mr Lehnsherr... no. No, he couldn't be.

"We don't keep many, I'm afraid." Charles entered the tidy stable block first, enjoying the clarity of his voice echoing off the walls and cobblestone floor. The childhood smell of dust, hay and horse that no amount of sweeping could remove. The stabled horses pricked their ears at their approaching footfalls. "There's mine, Raven's mare, two for the carriage. And this old chap," he slapped the neck of a large black hunter, "was my father's."

Lehnsherr nodded his approval. "A fine animal."

"Yes." Charles managed the slightly awkward silence that followed by running his hand down the horse's neck. The poor boy didn't get used much these days, but Charles had been reluctant to part with him. Despite being surrounded by old possessions of his father's in the family home, the proximity of a living, breathing animal kept his memory far more alive.

Surprisingly, it was Mr Lensherr who broke the silence. "I understand we are to be your guests until late this Sunday evening."

"Yes," Charles flashed a reflexive smile, "Raven was determined to have your wife the whole weekend. For some time she's been badgering me to formally invite you both." He hesitated, not sure if his next comment would be too intrusive. "Although I can't say I have any idea what they must talk about; they never seemed like they could get on well, to me. Fashions in town I suppose. And..." he cast his mind about to think of something else they may discuss, "... curtains?"

"Oh, I expect they're talking about a great deal more than curtains."

"And what might that be?"

"Us."

"Whatever do you mean?"

Lehnsherr set his jaw, as though impatient with Charles' stupidity. "During what has felt like a very long marriage to my darling wife, I have learnt that the moment you leave women alone, they discuss you in every way you could possibly imagine. And when you are with them, you become invisible." He frowned hard at the horse, now talking to him more than Charles. "She believes it gives her an air of mystery."

Charles laughed. "Well, I'm sure anything Raven could say about me is hardly worth considerable discussion."

"Oh, you have no idea. At least you're not married, I suppose. That's when it really starts."

"I may well be soon."

Lehnsherr raised his eyebrows in question.

"There is a young lady; another friend of Raven's actually, whom I have been seeing for some time now." As foolish as he felt, he couldn't help the smile that came with his thoughts of Moira. "We are engaged."

"Then I must congratulate you, my friend, on your certain fate of boredom and feelings of inadequacy."

Lehnsherr's blunt honesty was starting to get to Charles – he'd never met anyone so frank before. "I'm truly sorry you feel that way. But I must confess I'm looking forward to having her by my side."

"Oh poor Mr Xavier," Lehnsherr turned to look at him, their faces inches apart, arms brushing, "There are so many more glorious things in life than a good woman."

Before Charles could even register what Mr Lehnsherr had said, there was the sound of a carriage coming up the driveway.

"That'll be Moira."

"I'd like very much to meet her." Lehnsherr looked it was about the last thing in the world he'd want to do.

"Very well." He found it marginally harder to drag up his smile this time.

They reached the carriage just as Miss MacTaggert was stepping out.

"Charles." She greeted him with her usual smile, and Charles kissed her hand.

"Moira. Wonderful to see you again." He meant it. He could feel her mind bright and buzzing, and a little embarrassed, still, by his gesture. But his contentment was short-lived when he remembered the sullen presence waiting patiently just behind him. If his mind wasn't somehow blocked off, Charles knew he would have been able to feel Lehnsherr's sour amusement. "This is Mr Lehnsherr, Moira. He and his wife, a friend of Raven's, will be staying with us this weekend. Mr Lehnsherr, Moira MacTaggert."

She offered him a polite smile; all business, as she often was in society. Charles was thankful she knew how to take care of herself. "Mr Lehnsherr," she curtseyed, "Lovely to meet you."

"Miss MacTaggert." Lehnsherr bowed his head, then smiled the same hard smile he had earlier.

Charles wasn't sure if Mr Lehnsherr's show smile was better or worse than his straight face.

...

AN: Since my Hetalia muse is being a ho, I decided to try some Cherik. This may fail hideously, I could do with a beta, to be honest :/

Set early-mid 1800s, please excuse my lack of period knowledge.

Title is from Mumford and Sons song 'Timshel' and has probably already been used by someone else... If so, sorry :P


	2. Chapter 2

AN: In case I didn't make this clear, pairings are currently Charles/Moira and Erik/Emma, but after this chapter, it becomes decidedly more Charles/Erik. Maybe a few side pairings later too

...

When Charles, Moira and Mr Lehnsherr entered the living room, Raven and Emma were in the same positions they had left them in, though Raven had now visibly calmed down, and was reclining back in her seat. The former Miss Frost was still bolt upright and elegant as ever, as though she sensed when they were about to walk through the door and arranged herself accordingly. Or perhaps she always sat like that – given his current impression of her, Charles thought this incredibly likely.

"Moira!" Raven jumped up to greet her friend; forgoing social niceties in favour of a brief hug instead. She pulled back, smiling. "When did you arrive? I do hope Charles hasn't been keeping you to himself for ages. Like he always does." She shot her brother a playful glare.

Moira, used to Raven and Charles' well-meant sparring, laughed and patted her friend on the shoulder. "I only arrived a moment ago. Charles was introducing me to Mr Lehnsherr."

"Oh Lord, how rude of me. And I've been dying to introduce you two for the longest time." Raven span around to face Emma. "Mrs Lehnsherr, this is Miss Moira MacTaggert, a good friend of mine, and Charles' fiancé." Emma's expression flickered, but it was back to its flawless smile almost before you could notice.

"Wonderful to meet you Miss MacTaggert." Emma looked at her intensely, and for the second time that day Charles was thankful his soon-to-be-wife had backbone. "Miss Xavier speaks very highly of you."

"And you, Mrs Lehnsherr." Moira answered with her polite smile in place.

Raven seemed oblivious to this icy exchange as she chatted about what would be served for dinner. Either that or she had anticipated such a greeting and was sensible enough to ignore it. Charles suspected it was the latter.

Dinner was a slightly uncomfortable affair. It would have been considerably worse if the Lehnsherr's weren't so good at being polite and interesting guests through their apparent coldness.

Charles could feel Moira beside him, tense, with that tight little smile on her face. She didn't ease up until he brushed her hand under the table. Just to remind her he was there, and that Emma's bark was almost certainly worse than her bite. He could have calmed her with his mind, but he didn't like to interfere with people's emotions unless strictly necessary. It worked to some extent; her shoulders loosened, and she exchanged conversation more easily. Although Charles had to admit he was a little disappointed with Raven: her and Moira usually got on very well, and he couldn't help but feel she was being shunted aside in favour of Emma. Moira squeezed her fiancé's fingers gently in thanks.

He loved Moira's hands. They were still soft, despite the hard work he knew she put in running her home with her parents. He took any excuse he could to kiss her hand, brush his lips on that smooth skin. In recent months, since their engagement, he'd come to learn that kissing her lips was even more rewarding; from the few brief moments of intimacy she had allowed him. But still he longed to kiss her hand, then move to her wrist, and slowly up her arm, to her shoulder and neck; which he abruptly realised he had been starting for the past minute or so. He shook his head a little, and brought himself back to the table.

Mr Lehnsherr was holding his cutlery rather tightly as he and his wife continued to snip at each other. Their jibes were so well hidden behind their forced laughter and gratuitous use of 'darling,' that Charles believed it was only due to his endless study of people's facial expression and social ticks that he noticed the hostility. Even Raven, who was often as good at reading people as Charles (discounting telepathy) seemed not to notice, and began talking to Moira about wedding plans. The fact that he couldn't read much further into the Lehnsherr's apparent distaste for each other was getting to him. He finished the wine in his glass far more quickly than he usually would have allowed himself.

The biggest blow for Charles was when he discovered Emma's mind was closed off to him too; even more securely than Mr Lehnsherr's, if possible. His disappointment was softened a little when he saw her eyes flick up to him for a moment, just after he'd reached for her mind and felt nothing but the wall built to keep him out. Was it possible she'd felt him? After this, he found himself paying a great deal of attention to Mrs Lehnsherr – her reactions and expressions, tone of voice – to see if he could decipher anything further.

During Charles' close scrutiny of Emma, he thought that maybe, just once or twice, he saw a real smile on her face through her tinkling laugh at Raven's shrewd observations of other women out in society. It occurred to him then that if Raven and himself could just get these real smiles to stay on the Lehnsherr's faces for more than a few seconds at a time, they could become good friends. He'd had far worse company over dinner in the past.

After dinner, as manners often dictated, Charles and Erik moved to the study for another drink while the women readied themselves for sleep. Although the days were getting longer as spring progressed, all light was gone from the evening, and the study was lit softly by lamplight. Charles noticed Lehnsherr nod appreciatively at his large collection of books. Unlike many owned by the wealthy, his were clearly well used, if the number of volumes left around the room with their pages open was anything to go by. One of Charles' favourite possessions, a chess set of his father's, was set up on a small, round table near the fireplace. Each piece sat stoutly in its designated square, as Charles had given up teaching Raven years ago, and had had no one to play with since. The white pieces were carved from white onyx, translucent and slightly veined when held up to the light. The black pieces were also carved from onyx, but a different type, meaning they were not black but a pale green, streaked liberally with oranges and browns. The chequered board was made of the same; thick white squares spliced with rolling, marbled green. The differences between the black and white pieces was not so vast in this set, and considerably more beautiful.

Mr Lehnsherr lifted one of the black pawns from the board, and rolled it between his forefinger and thumb. "An unusual set."

"Yes." Charles poured them both a drink from the decanter under his desk. "Another thing that was once my father's. Although I have to say, the selfish part of me is glad that its mine now. I've always loved it."

"Do you play?"

"I play very well." Charles allowed his pride to come through just a little. "But I _am_ out of practice. I'm afraid I have found no one who shares my interest in the game."

"Well," Lehnsherr set the pawn down with a tiny click, and accepted the drink Charles had poured for him, "this is a momentous day for you, Mr Xavier." He sat in one of the dusty wicker chairs next to the table. "You have found one."

Charles looked down at the other man in amusement. He was becoming more of a mystery by the moment. It was refreshing, to say the least. Never one to turn down a challenge, he took the chair opposite. "Then by all means, let's play."

They began in silence, each planning their strategy. As the game progressed, Charles realised he was looking less at the board and more at Lehnsherr's hands; the delicate way he eased his pieces around the squares, long fingers plucking Charles' own pieces from their positions with traces of a smile. Consequently, Charles lost.

Halfway through their second game (and second drink) Mr Lehnsherr broke the silence. "You and your sister look nothing alike."

Charles floundered, again taken aback by how blunt the other man could be, compared to the subtle jibes and carefully masked insults he often encountered when with other men in society. "That's because she is not my sister; it's just simpler to present ourselves as such. She's in fact my ward. My father, in all his eccentricity, encountered her on one of his trips to London, and it was decided it would be best for her to live with us. When he died, I took over responsibility for her. She is my sister in all but genetics."

A further reason they did not look alike, but Charles chose not to mention, was that her true form consisted of smooth blue scales and yellow eyes. The pretty face she showed to others was a fabrication of hers, created by her ability to shapeshift in order to keep her safe from mockery and danger.

"Well, she is a lovely girl." Mr Lehnsherr claimed another of Charles' pieces. "My dear wife has befriended some rather silly, ignorant girls in her time, and I'm glad to say Miss Xavier isn't one of them."

Charles laughed. "I'm glad to hear it. I sense that's high praise, coming from you." A bold thing to say perhaps, but Mr Lehnsherr seemed not to notice.

"Yes, I suppose so."

"In that case," Charles took his opponent's knight, "may I be so bold as to ask what you think of me?" He felt Mr Lehnsherr was one of the few people who would give his true opinion without having to invade his thoughts.

Lehnsherr narrowed his eyes, apparently in thought, though Charles thought it more likely he was trying to figure out if this was some sort of trick question. "I think," he said slowly, "that you are a good man. From seeing this room alone, I know you are intelligent. And I can see that your servants, your sister and your," he made a face, "_fiancé _have respect for you." But I believe you are held back by a desire to please society. You care too much what people think of you."

"As much as it pains me to admit it, I believe you are accurate. I appreciate your honesty."

"I'm not finished. I also think that you're the type of man that women swoon over when you enter a room. That you left a lot of broken hearts behind when Moira secured you. You have a face that people fall in love with."

The clock on the mantel chimed eleven.

Charles was unsure what to say to that – he appreciated honesty, but that was perhaps a little too far. He finished off his drink and changed the subject. "How long have you and Mrs Lehnsherr been married?" He winced at the belated burn of alcohol.

Lehnsherr frowned and leant back in his chair. "Three years. Four this winter."

Charles was going to congratulate him, but thought better of it.

"We were good friends once, Emma and I. Unfortunately, our parents noticed this and mistook it for romance. My parents were keen for me to marry into English society, being from old German families themselves, to establish our name over here. They pushed us to marry, and we did, knowing we could easily get stuck in far worse marriages with people we hated. We assumed, at the very least, our friendship would grow, even if we couldn't love each other as a man and wife should. It seems we were mistaken."

Charles was beginning to think this was the most honest conversation he'd ever had, discounting those with Raven, especially after such a short acquaintance. But he sensed Mr Lehnsherr did not want to discuss the matter further, so he didn't push it. He wanted to keep this man as a friend. He hadn't felt the desire to get to know someone better since Moira.

They didn't speak much more after that, each lost in their own hazy thoughts as they finished the game. A little before twelve, they bid each other goodnight and retired to their bedrooms.

Charles' hand was warm where he had shaken Mr Lehnsherr's, and insisted that he call him Charles. The other had agreed, and in turn requested Charles call him Erik.

As he lay in bed, Charles let his mind wander – he picked up Moira first; her familiar mind dim and just drifting to sleep. He smiled sadly, and wished there was some way he could let her know how beautiful her mind was to him. He then felt Raven's thoughts, still flushed with success at her role as hostess. Downstairs he could feel the tired throb of the servants' mind as they locked doors and extinguished candle stubs. But nothing from the rooms in which Mr and Mrs Lehnsherr were staying; nothing but the crystalline wall of protection that somehow hid their minds from Charles' view.

...

AN: A bit of a filler – background on their families etc. It gets more intense next chapter, promise. Also, the chess set described belongs to my Nana and is sitting in my living room. It's really pretty, and kind of perfect for these two, I think.


	3. Chapter 3

Sunday dawned overcast and cloudy. Warm spring air felt packed close around the house, leaving the occupants drowsy but restless; unable to fix their minds on one task for long. Charles had picked up three different books, and given up on each after the first page. In the afternoon, Raven suggested a walk into town, hoping the fresh air would do them all some good. It didn't. The result of this was that by the time Charles, Raven and the Lehnsherr's sat down for their evening meal, it was welcomed by everyone as something to keep them occupied. Charles was thankful Moira had returned home early that morning– he feared Mrs Lehnsherr would have spent the day sniping at her just for entertainment.

"I still cannot believe you actually found the courage to propose to her Charles." Raven had apparently decided her brother's lack of nerve in his courtship was a good conversation topic for dinner.

Despite her frequent claims that Charles was always extremely focused on whatever task may come to hand, his mind often wandered. He could easily keep up a lively conversation with her about a dance the previous Saturday, and at the same time go over the month's expenses in his head. Both a blessing and a curse – any time he may have saved by thinking through two things at once was lost when Raven realised what he was doing and lectured him on manners and polite conversation.

Which was how, at that moment in time, he was able to input a satisfactory amount of 'Yes, of course' and 'I completely agree' into Raven's solo discussion of his and Moira's wedding plans while also contemplating Erik. Although he had spent a considerable amount of time with the man that day, their conversation hadn't terribly inspired. Just having him close by made Charles feel a little uncomfortable and unfocused, though not in an entirely unpleasant way.

"Yes, but I'm glad you two chose roses in the end. Don't you agree Charles?" Raven prompted.

"Oh, yes of course." He took a sip of wine.

"The pink roses look beautiful with the dress Moira's chosen. I can only imagine how much it would have cost her father."

"Raven!"

The man was intriguing. He could go from a blank page, to an open book, and back again in seconds. Most people were either completely guarded or totally honest, in Charles' experience. And he'd had a lot of it – standing in drawing rooms with brandy glasses and air heavy with smoke while the big men of society discussed their wives and mistresses, profits and losses. Never before had he met anyone who shifted so rapidly between moods, and who concealed them so well.

"We'll have to mind the weather though, if we want guests to be able to use the garden."

"I completely agree."

Of course Erik had a brilliant mind. What little conversation they'd shared had showed him that. And his victory in their chess game the previous night. But why couldn't Charles see _into_ it? Perhaps that was the real allure: there'd never been a mind so stubbornly closed to him before. Well, other than Mrs Lehnsherr's of course. But hers wasn't the mind Charles wanted to feel.

"And of course Mr and Mrs Lehnsherr must come to the wedding, don't you think Charles?"

"I'm sorry." His thoughts on the wedding and the man sitting opposite him were becoming harder to keep separate. "Pardon?" He tried to ease back into wedding mode; to flowers and church bells and white satin. To images of himself and Moira, hand in hand and smiling. Her throwing the bouquet and Raven trying to be subtle about nudging others out of her way to catch it.

"The Lehnsherrs, Charles. Your wedding." Raven was waiting for an answer, fork paused halfway to her mouth.

"Oh, yes. Yes of course you must come."

And then, somehow, his mind completely lost the ability to differentiate between the two subjects, and it wasn't Moira's soft face cupped in his hand, but Erik's hard jaw. The conversation of the others around the table became a light buzz as Charles' head filled with images of Erik's face close to his own, the feel of their lips brushing, his breath, the scratch of stubble on his face. The sight of that lean, masculine body laced into a white corset as he ran his fingers over the fastenings, and slipped his tongue over the other's collarbone –

Charles was snapped out of his accidental fantasy by a sharp clang as Erik's dessert spoon fell from the table to the floor. But... the spoon had been resting on the tablecloth a good few inches from his plate, exactly where it had been placed by Kitty hours earlier, and Erik's hands were currently occupied with knife and fork. What on earth...?

"Sorry," Erik muttered, "Clumsy of me." Emma glared at her husband, clutching her own cutlery tighter.

"Quite alright." Charles tried to muster a polite smile, but was unable to hold it for long as the images from a moment ago replayed in his mind and refused to fade. He felt his face heat up, and decided he needed a minute alone. "If you'll please excuse me a moment," He choked out as he stood from his chair, ignoring Raven's protests, and tried to leave the room in a way that didn't make him look guilty.

Charles wasn't sure if it was better or worse to be alone with his thoughts. He no longer had to hide the utter embarrassment and confusion of what had just happened; there was no one to see him as he ran his hand through his hair, agitated, and grasped the windowsill, leaning out to catch any breeze on his flushed face. His first thought was of Moira. It felt a horrible betrayal to have thought of anyone else like that when he was due to marry her within the year. Nevermind a man.

Shit.

But he didn't... a man? Charles was of the opinion that people could do whatever they liked in the privacy of their own homes, never mind the law, but this was something different entirely. He never thought he'd be counting himself as one of those 'perverted' individuals living in secrecy, the subject of cruel jokes, surrounded by suspicion and whispers. No. No. He caught himself before his mind ran away with him, again. What should he do about Erik – no – Lehnsherr? Nothing, that's what. The man was intriguing, yes , but he was marrying Moira, and very happy to be. The way his mind worked was different from most other people, he knew this. And he also knew it could play tricks on him ten times worse because of it. He shook his head to try and clear his strange, uncoordinated thoughts, and headed back to the dining room.

"Don't be absurd Charles," he whispered to his own mind, pushing open the door.

An hour or so after dinner, the Lehnsherrs were ready to depart; two smart black horses stood waiting in front of an equally smart, black carriage. It was difficult to imagine man or wife ruffled or uncomfortable – everything about them was finished to perfection, their transport included. Raven gave each of them a firm handshake, social conventions be damned, to which they both responded equally firmly, and with smiles. Charles shook Erik – Mr Lehnsherr's – hand quickly and muttered what he hoped was a polite farewell, then took his wife's hand.

"Have a safe journey home, Mrs Lehnsherr. It was wonderful having you."

"Thank you Charles. My husband and I greatly enjoyed ourselves." And she smiled wider than Charles had ever seen her before; a cat-like grin that he had no idea was genuine or not. Erik just looked uncomfortable.

He smiled back briefly, and helped her into the carriage.

Raven and Charles stood on the front steps, in light spilling from the house as the carriage drew further along the driveway, Raven waving and Charles staring at the dark windows, wishing he could see the minds of those inside.

"Thank you, Charles."

"What for?"

Raven stopped waving and shrugged, wrapping her arms around herself against the evening chill. "For being you, I suppose. The gracious host, my smiling, hand-shaking big brother."

Charles put his arm around his little sister's shoulders. "You're very welcome. And it was enjoyable, really. I forget that there are other people in the world sometimes, other than you. And Moira. It did me good to be reminded."

"I'm glad you think so." He felt her grin on his shoulder. "I invited them over again on Thursday."

"...What?"

"I asked the Lehnsherr's over again on Thursday. I wanted Emma's help with a certain stitch I'm having trouble with. Although I doubt my battle against embroidery will interest you and Mr Lehnsherr. I'm sure you can find something else to amuse yourselves with."

"I – yes, I suppose so."

"And Emma tells me he's actually quite civil to you, compared to how he can be with company." She was toying with a loose thread on his jacket, an old sign that he knew meant she was choosing her words carefully. "It would do you good to have an actual friend, Charles. Sometimes I worry you'll become one of those poor old men who hides away in his rooms with his words and dusty relics in a house run by women. Well, that's going to happen anyway," she looked up at him, "because we all know Moira's the boss of you, Charles. What I mean is, I want there to be another old man to sit in your study with you; to nod understandingly when you complain about Moira, and he can complain back about Emma." She smiled again. "Though none of you will complain about me. I'm perfection."

Charles couldn't help but hug her tighter; smile in to her hair about how wrong and how right she could be. He was drawn to Erik – and in a way to Emma – what secrets lay within their strangely silent minds, and why on earth the imagined feel of Erik's breath on his lips was imprinted in his memory. She leant against him, and in the weight of her at his side, he felt secret hiding places, tree houses, and storybooks; every moment of their childhood together.

...

AN: Oh God, that took me so long. I blame the other writers in this fandom; they're so bloody brilliant I want to read their work into crazy hours of the morning instead of writing my own XD

This one's a little short :/ And it feels a bit muddled to me, but I guess that happens when you read through something a bazillion times.

Next chapter will be longer, and will involve rolling English countryside, horseriding, and kissing.


	4. Chapter 4

Erik had been less than pleased when Emma had accepted Miss Xavier's invitation to call again on Thursday. Not because he disliked her or her brother, far from it. He was not sure he could trust himself around Charles. He had come to terms with the fact that he enjoyed male company years ago. Emma knew – how could she not, with her gift – and it did not bother her. Privately, Erik thought she rather liked the idea. But this didn't change the fact that getting too close to Charles Xavier could cause extensive problems for all of them, and scandal was something he hoped to avoid. Although a small part of him relished the idea of Charles dropping everything to be with him; leaving behind his fiancé, his sister, his world, just to be by Erik's side. The practical part of him knew this was ridiculous.

When they arrived at the Xavier house, Charles and Raven once more greeted them with brilliant and genuine smiles, and Erik wanted even less to tarnish their apparently happy home. After a brief exchanging of pleasantries, Raven and Emma marched purposefully to the drawing room, having an intense discussion about types of stitch, leaving Charles and Erik standing far apart, in the hallway. Erik was very aware of the space between them, the empty air filled with nothing but the sound of their breathing. He cast back through their past conversations to come up with something, anything, to break their silence.

"I believe, last time we visited, you mentioned we might take the horses out?"

Erik was perfectly at ease on horseback. Horses, or indeed most any animal, were easier to deal with than people. An animal did not judge you – not your appearance, wealth, sexual preference, political stance, nothing – unless you forgot to feed it, that is. And they didn't talk, which Erik saw as a definite bonus. Charles had given him his father's horse to ride; the large back hunter he'd shown him last weekend. They were getting along rather well, the horse knew what he wanted from Erik and Erik knew what he wanted from the horse. He could feel the metal bit in the horse's mouth, the buckles holding leather in place, the stirrups as they took his weight.

"Good God Erik, I've never seen anyone sit so straight on a horse before." Charles called to him. "It's supposed to be enjoyable."

Erik said nothing, but rolled his eyes and urged the horse faster, attempting to edge in front of Charles. There was no hope, of course. It turned out that Charles' own horse was lame, so he had borrowed Raven's instead, insisting it would be fine as long as she never found out. She was possessive when it came to her horse, apparently. The bay mare, Mystique, was fine and leggy; a little highly strung, and alas much faster than Erik's mount for the day. Once more, he found himself facing Charles' back as he cantered ahead.

They were still close by the house, on Charles' land, all smooth grass and soft hills, broken up by the odd large oak or yew tree. Erik noticed Charles had slowed to a walk – much to the mare's displeasure – the gap between them had been getting ridiculous.

"I see you decided to join me," Charles grinned as Erik drew up beside him, his horse glad of the rest.

"Yes." Erik was a little annoyed the other had out-ridden him. "You ride like a maniac."

Charles just laughed. "I do not! It's all Mystique. Well, mainly. She can be a little..."

"Insane?"

"Spirited. Much like her mistress."

They walked the horses side by side a while in fairly comfortable silence, any awkwardness from earlier long gone. Erik couldn't help but let his eyes wander over Charles as he rode, taking in the set of his shoulders, the curve of his back; the way his hips moved back and forward with each stride the horse took. Erik's own horse stumbled, and his knee bumped Charles', jolting him out of his silence.

"Come on then."

Erik shook himself out of his trance, the hazy smell of horse, crushed grass, and Charles. "I'm sorry, what?"

"The horses are rested, and I challenge you to a rematch. First to the end of the field."

"But you'll win."

"That's hardly the right attitude, is it Erik. Come on." With that, Charles kicked the mare on, flecks of mud and grass flicking up behind them. Not about to be beaten again, Erik urged the hunter forward. Charles was just ahead of him, lining the mare up to jump a fallen log, which she did, easily. It occurred to Erik that Charles was no longer concerned with racing, as he had slowed Mystique a considerable amount, and was now concentrating on showing off. He kept the mare steady and controlled, clearing logs and ditches as easily as if man and horse were sharing their thoughts. Belatedly, Erik realised he was not admiring Charles' horsemanship so much as the man himself.

In the end, they called it a draw as they slowed to a walk at the end of the field, and through a narrow gateway into woodland. The twisting muddy tracks through the trees required them to ride single file, and Erik gladly took his place behind Charles, content to stare at the back of his head and wonder what the hell he was getting himself into.

_I placed all my trust at the foot of this hill  
And now I am sure my heart can never be still  
So collect your courage and collect your horse  
And pray you never feel the same kind of remorse._

Seal my heart and brake my pride  
I've nowhere to stand and now nowhere to hide  
Align my heart, my body, my mind  
To face what I've done and do my time.

The wooded slope began to even out, and as they rounded the corner, Charles saw a familiar haunt of his childhood – the ruins of a house. A modest one; an old labourer's cottage from long ago, left to fall apart in secret. Of its four walls, only one remained whole – the back wall, complete with an indented, soot-stained arch where a fireplace once was. The other walls were there in part; crumbling and jagged, choked with glossy ivy. He and Raven used to play there together, if they could escape their parent's watchful eyes long enough to make the journey. He couldn't say now what the games they had played were. All he could recall was Raven laughing and breathless, and the promise of their adventures.

"Now why on earth," Erik dismounted and walked between the ruined walls, boots sinking in the mass of leaf mould and brambles, "have you brought me here, Charles?"

"I'm afraid I don't know." Charles answered honestly, leaving his horse with Erik's and following him into the broken building. "It used to be my favourite place. But I suppose, when you get older, you forget about places you want to go, things you want to do, and concern yourself only with things that _need_ doing."

Erik laughed. "You clearly don't go in to town enough Charles. There's plenty of people doing whatever they please, everyone else be damned."

"That's not what I meant." Charles picked his way through the plant life to the back wall, and ran his fingers over the rough stone of the fire place.

"Then what _did_ you mean?" Erik was right behind him. Charles could feel his breath on his neck, sense him standing so close, coiled and tense.

He turned around, ready to answer, but stopped abruptly as he found Erik's face too close to his own, their noses almost touching. He blinked, unsure what to say; mouth open although he couldn't find the words. Erik was looking at him hard, not angry, but calculating, the harsh lines of his face softened by indecision. He swallowed, and Charles saw a flutter of panic across his features. He was struck with the impulse to get rid of the hardness, the confusion; to be the one to make Erik smile, the real smile he'd caught glimpses of in his study.

"It means," Charles heard the crack in his voice and cursed himself for it, "that I shouldn't spend my time doing selfish things. Like this."

He kissed Erik.

It was the most daring thing he'd ever done, and he wasn't sure if that was exciting or depressing. The only person he'd kissed romantically was Moira, and they had been soft and chaste, a promise for the future. But this was hard and strong and now; his hands fisted in the front of Erik's jacket as their tongues met and teeth knocked. Charles felt hands on each side of his face as Erik ran his tongue along Charles' bottom lip, drew it into his mouth. He let himself be pushed back against the sandy stone, felt Erik pick open the top of his shirt. There was a hand on his shoulder, a thigh against his hip, and a mouth on his neck. Then a rush of pain just under his collar bone where Erik sucked at the skin. Charles gasped at the unexpected pleasure, and the sound broke whatever spell they had been under.

Erik jolted backwards, unsteady. Charles tensed his shoulders and pushed himself further into the wall, feeling sharp stone poke through his jacket and scrape at the back of his neck.

Neither moved, out of their comfort zone and completely unsure what to do next. Eventually, Charles' senses crawled back to him, and he did the only thing he could do: re-button his shirt collar and get back his horse. The mare shifted her weight nervously as he got back into the saddle. The creak of leather behind him told him Erik had done the same. He kicked the mare into a canter, her hoofbeats in time with the throbbing mark Erik had left on his chest.

He didn't know what to think; his thoughts were tangled and panicked, the only clear words running through his head were _stupid stupid stupid stupid wonderful_. He urged Raven's mare faster, hoping the speed and the air in his face would whip it all away. Erik was far behind him – his father's hunter wasn't as young as he used to be, and his thick legs not as quick as Mystique's. Puddles splashed up her legs and twigs whipped at his face as he turned her down a narrow lane. He should have seen it coming, really. He knew the horse well, and had laughed many a time as Raven pulled herself out of the ditches and hedges Mystique had thrown her in to. Unfortunately, the spontaneous kissing of his sister's friend's husband had pushed most of the rationality out of his mind. The lane opened out into a field full of grazing cattle. The mare wasn't fond of cows at the best of times, so urging her straight towards them at a gallop was probably not the most sensible thing to do. This was confirmed when a startled calf bellowed and ran to its mother, cutting right in front of the horse. She dug her heels in and stopped abruptly, skidding on the damp grass, causing Charles to lose his balance. As she spooked and jumped sideways, Charles completely lost his seat and fell to the ground, feeling a sharp pain in his shoulder when he landed on it. He bit his lip hard to keep in his shout, and felt blood welling when the skin broke.

"Charles?" He heard Erik shout, and a moment later, the man was kneeling next to him on the wet grass. "What the hell happened? Are you alright?"

"Yes. No." He swallowed a groan. "It's my shoulder. I can't – it really bloody hurts."

"Oh for God's sake." Erik shook his head. "Don't move. I'll catch your sister's stupid horse and then we'll get you home. And a doctor."

Charles heard Erik stride away from him, trying not to think about the throb in his shoulder. He was incredibly glad Erik's mind was blocked off from his – he had a tendency to project feelings or sensations, such as extreme pain or pleasure, when they became too much. He'd never forgotten the lecture Raven had given him when they were younger, and he'd broken his arm falling from a tree. What felt like hours later, he heard Erik leading Mystique back towards him. He focused all his effort on not crying out in pain when Erik somehow lifted him onto his father's horse, leading him and Raven's mare back up to the house. When Charles tried to look back on this later, he realised he couldn't recall the walk back home, although he suspected it hadn't been pleasant.

The next thing he was aware of was the clattering of horseshoes as they reached the stable yard, the smell of sweet hay and horse sweat. A man's voice – he presumed it was Erik – was shouting. Something about a doctor. There were arms around him, easing him down from the horse's back; arms that held him for perhaps a little longer than necessary.

...

AN: I took ages again. Woops. I'm not sorry, it was my birthday, and I managed to coerce my friends into a comic book character party. Well, they didn't take much persuading, to be honest. My friends are spectacular XD

I have a tiny fascination with men riding horses. I tried not to overdo it, but may have failed... I'm also mildly concerned about my continuity.

A gold star to anyone who can guess who the doctor's going to be. Obvious choice is obvious ahahaaa.

The lyrics between Erik and Charles' PoVs are from 'Dust Bowl Dance', by Mumford and Sons.


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Just to say, this chapter has a bit of an Emma/Erik moment, in case you really dislike that pairing or whatever.

...

All Charles wanted to do was sleep, but the throbbing in his shoulder was relentless. That and any time he nearly dropped off, Raven would poke his arm and scowl at him.

"Charles, I won't say it again. You can't go to sleep until after the doctor's been." She glared down at him from the chair next to his bed.

He groaned and tried to roll over, realising too late this was probably a bad idea when a splinter of pain went through his shoulder. "Fine! Fine. I just wish he'd bloody well hurry up."

Raven's expression softened. "I know. He'll be here soon. You know Dr McCoy wouldn't make you wait if he could help it. And please try to stop projecting your pain." Small patches of her skin were tinted blue – a sign that she was losing control over her appearance – because of the pressure Charles was inadvertently putting her under.

"Oh Raven, I'm so sorry. I didn't realise." He tried to reel the pain back into himself, and watched as her skin shifted back to a more 'normal' hue.

She placed her hand gently over his, and stroked his forehead with the other.

"Thank you." He relaxed a little at the familiar touch.

She smiled. "You're ridiculous. Sometimes I feel like we haven't grown up at all; really we're still children, searching for adventure and getting nothing but trouble when we find it." Her smile slid to a frown. "Speaking of which, you're going to be in awful trouble with Ororo. You're getting mud everywhere – look, it's soaking into the sheets." She was right; the head housekeeper would be more than irritated. When Charles had arrived home with his injury, a decision was made by those present to place him on his bed still dressed in his dirtied riding clothes; they hadn't wanted to jostle his shoulder and cause more damage, and thought it the most comfortable and private place for him to be. However, Charles only vaguely remembered being put there. Erik had carried him up the stairs, he knew that much. He remembered the smell of leather and faint tang of sweat as his face pressed into the other's shoulder...

"Raven, where are the Lehnsherrs?"

"I sent them home of course. You're certainly not fit for company in this state Charles, even your hosting skills don't stretch that far."

"Yes. You were right to do so, I suppose." It was probably better that Charles didn't see Erik for a while anyway. His thoughts were still so tangled and twisted around each other that he didn't know what to think. His face burned at the memory of what had happened, and he sincerely hoped this could pass as a sign of discomfort at his injury.

"Charles, are you – "

Raven was interrupted by a knock at the door as Kitty showed in Dr Henry McCoy, the family doctor for the past two years since he had opened his practice in town. He looked nervous and fidgety, as always, when the door shut behind him.

"Mr Xavier. Miss Xavier." He nodded to them both.

"Dr McCoy." Raven stood to greet him, smiling and a little breathless. If Charles weren't in such pain, he would have teased her for it. A few moments passed, and Charles was wondering if it would be impolite to clear his throat to get their attention, when Henry remembered his reason for visiting the Xaviers was _not_ to stare at Raven.

"Ah yes, Mr Xavier." He flushed and walked over to Charles' bedside. "I'm told you've injured your shoulder."

"Yes."

"Right. Let's have a look then. Miss Xavier, if you'd be so kind..." Charles noticed he looked at the floor as he spoke, rather than Raven.

"Of course." Raven gave Charles' hand one last squeeze before leaving the room so the doctor could get to work.

It took the flush on Dr McCoy's face a good ten minutes to fade as he gently worked Charles' arm free from his jacket and shirt so he could get a better look at the injury. Charles could safely say it was the most painful ten minutes he could remember enduring.

"I understand you fell from your horse," said the doctor, removing his glasses to study the dark bruises closer.

"Actually it was Raven's horse, the little blighter. But yes." He breathed in sharply when Dr McCoy gingerly touched his shoulder.

"...I see."

After a long while of his shoulder being prodded and poked, Charles felt about ready to punch him. Shame his shoulder felt like it was made of broken glass. Eventually, the doctor stopped prodding and straightened up.

"It's not badly damaged, as far as I can tell, and certainly not dislocated. Just heavily bruised."

"_Just_? Really Henry?"

Dr McCoy smiled. Charles was one of the few people he knew the man could truly relax around; he could feel Henry's brilliant, but twitching and insecure mind smooth out and relax in his company. "A poor choice of word perhaps. I hope you enjoy bed rest Mr Xavier, because that's what I'm prescribing. It'll ease up in a few days."

"If you say so."

"I do. I'd like to check over the rest of you quickly, if you don't mind. Sometimes minor injuries can go unnoticed under the distraction of the main one."

"Be my guest."

Charles didn't give it a second thought as Henry looked over his legs, neck, other arm, until –

"Oh. There's something here..."

Charles stiffened when he felt the doctor poke just by his collar bone; a dull little throb under the skin. Right on the bruise Erik had made with his teeth, his tongue.

"It looks like..." Dr McCoy pulled his hand away suddenly, as though burned. "Nothing. It's nothing at all." He turned away, flushing again, as he picked up his jacket and bag. "So, yes, just rest for a few days, don't do anything too, umm, strenuous? I mean, don't over-exert yourself, and umm, you'll be right as rain in no time." A tight smile. "Good day Mr Xavier." He bowed briefly and as good as ran from the room.

Henry's prudishness would have been amusing, had Charles not been so mortified. What must his friend think of him? He knew Charles was not yet married, so he would naturally assume that either him and Moira had consummated their marriage before it had taken place, or that he had a lover. There was no way he could know it had been Lehnsherr, although he couldn't help the niggling paranoia in the back of his mind.

"Of course he can't know that Charles, you blithering idiot." He spoke out loud to himself, trying to dispel the panic skittering through him. Henry was a discrete doctor, and a good friend. There was no reason for him to mention it to anyone. This did little to ease Charles' concern – he was beginning to realise just how easily they could have been caught out. Slowly, shock and tiredness overcame him, and he slipped into a sleep troubled with dreams of himself running through dark trees, searching for someone who didn't want to be found.

A soft knock at the door pulled Charles from his dozing. It was now late afternoon, nearly evening, grey creeping into the sky and muting the colour in everything it touched.

"Come in."

It was Kitty, wringing her hands and brow creased in concern. "I'm sorry sir, I didn't want to disturb you, but Mr Lehnsherr insisted – "

Said man entered the room from behind the maid, fingers tight around the rim of the hat he was holding. Charles could do nothing but stare as memories from that morning swept through his mind, along with a rush of arousal so strong it was embarrassing.

"Not at all Kitty." He pried his eyes away from Erik, though he felt the other's gaze still on him. "Thank you."

Kitty, visibly relieved she wasn't in trouble, bobbed a curtsey and left the room.

"I wanted to – "

"Why are you – "

They spoke at the same time. Charles motioned for Erik to speak first.

"I – I felt I should call and see how you were." Charles had never seen the man look so uncomfortable, his knuckles white with tension and concern creasing his brow. Of course, he was hiding it better than most.

"I see. You could have waited until tomorrow, you know." He realised how rude that must have sounded, and how he didn't mean it at all. "No, I – what I mean to say is, you needn't have troubled yourself Erik. I'm perfectly fine."

Erik said nothing, but raised an eyebrow in doubt.

"Well, alright," Charles admitted defeat, "I feel bloody terrible." He seemed to be back-tracking an awful lot today.

"Anything I can do?"

Charles looked up at Erik with honest surprise. He had never thought the man would actually care enough to check up on him, no more than was socially proper, anyway.

"No. No, I don't think so. I'll be spending a lot of time in bed." A pause in which he felt that familiar God-awful rush of heat to his face. "Sleeping," he added quickly, "I have to sleep. In bed." Oh Christ, of all the times for his eloquence to take a holiday...

"Of course." Erik looked a little warm as well, and like he was fighting back a smile. Realising this, he cleared his throat, and looked very intently at the hat he was holding. "In that case, I should be going. Don't hesitate to be in contact, should you need me. That is, if there's anything Mrs Lehnsherr or myself can help with. Yes." He bowed, and rushed to the door. "Good day, Mr Xavier."

And Charles was once more alone with his thoughts. This was usually his favourite place to be, but at that precise moment, he felt he'd rather be anywhere else. They were both ignoring it. They were ignoring the kiss they had shared, the bruise they both knew decorated Charles' collar bone, and the fact this could mean a lot more than they had thought at first. It was very easy to pretend that none of it mattered, when he recalled Erik pressed against him in that ruin of a building, lips and hands covering his own. Very easy to forget that if someone had seen them, especially the wrong person, everything would be over. And that was no exaggeration. He could not see Erik again. He couldn't let himself.

"You want Charles Xavier."

This was what his wife chose to greet him with the moment after he knocked and entered her bedroom. She always was straight to the point; no preamble, no dragging out the inevitable. It was both a blessing and a curse, as she was herself.

No reason to deny it; it was true. "How did you know?"

Emma laughed, a soft chuckle that Erik used to like, before they were married. "You know that as well as I do. I know all your thoughts, darling husband. And I must say, they've been very interesting of late." She pulled a loose thread from the sleeve of her nightgown as she looked up at him. She spent a lot of time in her nightclothes, or in the bath, or pretending to sleep. Things that didn't require his presence. "Very interesting."

Erik turned to leave the room. He guessed at what she was about to do, and was keen to avoid it. "I don't want to hear it Emma. Stay out of my head."

He should know by now, really, that any show of reluctance encouraged her. "But darling," she purred, "aren't you just a little curious?"

He stopped when he felt her hand on his shoulder, closed his eyes and tried to shut her out.

"None of that now, Erik dear. No need to shut out your lovely wife, not when you know what she can do for you."

Erik felt the cold touch of her mind push harder into his, and with it, images of Mr Xavier. He knew he had lost then, as he gave in and let the images fill every space in his mind, flickering through his consciousness like flames in a grate. She had done this for him before, on occasion. Her near constant presence in his head meant she knew when there was a man he was lusting after, and used it to toy with him. It wasn't always unwelcome. In fact, he was fairly sure she'd already done so – last weekend at the Xavier's, when scenes of himself wrapped in Charles' embrace had jumped into his mind during dinner. It would not be the first time she'd chosen an inappropriate moment.

"Emma," he ground out, "please don't."

"Shh, shh darling. There's no need for words." She ran her hands over his shoulders, down his arms, and in his mind's eye it was Charles, grinning wickedly and eyes dark, his intent all too clear.

"Emma, _no_." He could feel her standing behind him, pressed into his back, as she kissed his neck just under his ear. And still she flooded his mind with Charles: Charles' lips on his, hard, then soft, then harder again. Charles' hands on his chest, in his hair, slipping down his back.

"Erik," he heard Charles' voice whisper deep in his head as Emma's breath tickled his neck. "Erik, please. I want you."

Illusion or not, Erik could take it no longer. He span to face Emma and kissed her hard, his fingers digging into her arms. He felt her smile briefly, triumphant, before kissing him back just as enthusiastically. She was not as delicate as people believed her to be.

They fell onto the bed, Erik pinning Emma between his thighs. He reached for the ribbons lacing the front of her nightgown, and tugged them open. He kissed her breasts, which he had always liked to kiss much more than her lips, and earned a hum of pleasure from Emma. It was no longer man or woman in Erik's mind; neither Charles nor his wife. He was driven solely but need, want, as he moved to unfasten his trousers. Emma's hand came to rest on his head.

"Good boy."

Erik froze. He growled and pulled away from her, like the animal he knew she thought of him as. He would not be her pet to manipulate, _he would not_. He pushed himself off the bed and stood, shaky with anger and unfulfilled arousal. He would not show his rage; showing control over his own emotion would probably annoy her more.

"Goodnight Emma." He gave her the icy smile they had both perfected and politely bowed his head.

She flashed her own serpent smile right back. Her eyes were bright in the candle flame, naked chest and legs caught in the glow. "Are you sure I cannot tempt you, Erik?" She pushed another image of Charles into his head, flushed and laughing as he jumped Raven's mare over a ditch. Erik felt his smile crack into a deep frown. He needed to get away from her.

"I said goodnight." He spun on his heel and slammed the door behind him when he left her room; beautiful, clear laughter at his displeasure following him down the hallway.

...

AN: I know crap all about shoulder injuries and how they were treated in the 1800s, so hopefully it doesn't sound too ridiculous.

I really dislike the word breasts. Just saying. Also, I feel bad about Emma. I never intended her to be this much of a bitch when I started writing. Love you really babe.

Not much Cherik this chapter, sorry, but all this felt necessary. Next chapter though, the boys find out a great deal more about each other, and this shit gets serious.


	6. Chapter 6

_You are not alone in this._

_You are not alone in this._

_As brothers we will stand_

_And I'll hold your hand,_

_Hold your hand._

Through the days Charles had been confined to his room while his shoulder healed, Raven had tried to keep him entertained. She soon gave up when she realised how little useful conversation she'd get from her brother, who seemed completely at a loss of what to do with himself. She was right of course. He'd spent the last few days battling with the differences between what he wanted to do and what he should do; attempting to untangle his thoughts that had become as twisted and meshed together as strands of metal wire. He'd had very little success.

Which was why, on the evening of the day that Dr McCoy had finally given him permission to leave his own house (Charles was not irritated by that at all, thank you very much) he was still there. The day had been long, and hot, considering it was still only spring. It reminded Charles of the summer days of his childhood; days of wavering heat and wildflower pollen, sunburn across his nose. Days when his father had still been there, to light-heartedly scold him over grass stains on his knees. Days that brimmed with a sense of anticipation; for in the evening, the house would fill with guests, then music would be played, and everyone would dance, eat, and laugh until sunrise. Of course, Charles had always fallen asleep before the guests left, overcome with the excitement of it all. Raven often suggested he should open up the house again, to give grand parties like the family had used to. But Charles couldn't bring himself to – he was afraid the magic he'd felt as a child no longer existed.

The sun was getting lower, and Charles' thoughts were only marginally less confused than they had been several days ago. Or rather, he knew what he wanted, but he wasn't sure why, and this scared him. All he knew was that he couldn't live like this forever, and there was only one person who could possibly offer a solution. He called for a horse to be saddled.

"Mr Lehnsherr's just in the study sir." The footman who had met Charles when he arrived at Erik's manor swung open the heavy door to let Charles through. "Mr Xavier, sir."

The door clicked shut behind him as the man left. Erik didn't look up. Instead he continued to stare out of the window, dying orange light of the sunset striking his face. Charles didn't move either. He hadn't given much thought to what he was going to say to Erik; he'd just known he needed to speak to him, see him.

"Good evening Erik." He spoke quietly, afraid to break the stillness of the room.

The other turned to face him then, his pained expression enhanced by the way the sun hit it, half in brilliant orange, half in shadow. He took a step forward, and stopped. The thick air between them swirled with dust motes, an invisible barrier. Charles noted the tension in Erik's neck and clenched hands.

"Charles."

"We've been avoiding each other, my friend."

"...Yes."

Charles tried to smile, but his jaw felt stiff and resistant. "For my part, I must admit it was due to guilt." He swallowed too quickly, and nearly choked. "I feel guilty about how this may have affected our lives with Moira, and Emma. How it may have affected you. I feel guilty for giving in to that selfishness you mentioned."

A smile briefly flickered over Erik's face. "So you are here to atone? To make yourself feel better?"

"Well, when you put it like that, it sounds hideous," he frowned, "but yes, I suppose I am, in a way. What I mean to say, is that I'm sorry for behaving as I did. It was rash, and stupid."

At this, Erik rolled his eyes in a remarkably similar way to what Raven did when Charles failed to grasp a point she was making. "Charles, you are not sorry about what we did, and neither am I. It may have been stupid, but neither of us regret it. Tell me now if I am wrong."

For a moment, Charles could only stare, figuring out what it was Erik was saying, and not quite daring to believe it. "...No. You are not wrong."

Erik nodded, and Charles caught a glimpse of the formidable businessman he was famed for being among society. "I thought as much."

Erik wasn't angry with him. Good. But that didn't solve everything. "But Erik, if you – you – feel as I do, and you feel no remorse, then why did you not contact me? I assumed you felt guilty, or humiliated. That you'd made a mistake."

Erik stared at Charles as though he'd slapped him, before closing the space between them and taking Charles' hands in his own. "No. No Charles. Our actions may have been unplanned, but they were not a mistake." He looked at the floor, jaw working as he considered what to say next. Then his gaze was back on Charles; a hard, pleading look he'd never seen there before. "Charles, there is something I have to tell you now, before this goes further and I hurt you."

"Erik," Charles tried to smile through his concern at what the other man might say, "I do not think there is anything you could say that would change how I feel."

If anything, this seemed to agitate Erik further. "Please stop it Charles, you're making this harder." He clenched his jaw. "Emma and I, part of the reason we became such good friends in the beginning, we are different. We are not like other people. We – we have certain abilities that set us apart."

Charles stared, fists closed tight by his sides. He had suspected this, suspected something, about the Lehnsherrs, but he'd never thought it could really be true; merely wishful thinking. There were others like him and Raven after all. He came back to himself, and realised Erik was waiting for his reaction.

"Show me."

This was clearly not what Erik had been expecting, but the sharp, pained look stayed etched on his face as he lead Charles to a small table, on which rested some coins and a thin candle in a decorative silver candlestick. Erik released one of his hands and raised his own. Charles couldn't help but squeeze the remaining hand tighter. As Erik extended his hand towards the table, the candlestick and coins rose a few inches from the surface, and stayed there. A few moments passed, and Erik lowered them back down. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, as if preparing for Charles' disgust.

"Erik, that was... wonderful."

Erik's eyes opened and he snapped his gaze to Charles. "What?"

"That was truly amazing my friend. You're very gifted."

"You mean to say, that is, you're not – you don't – "

"That explains the incident with your dessert spoon at least." Charles smiled properly for the first time in days, and let go of Erik's hand. He felt elated. "Since you have been so honest with me Erik, I feel I must show you the same courtesy. But first, if I may ask, what is Emma's ability? You said you were both 'different.'"

Erik frowned, apparently debating if Emma's secret was his to share. "She can see into people's heads. She reads thoughts. Senses feelings."

And a great deal more besides, if her gift was anything like Charles'. "Ah. That explains a lot. Erik, could you please ask your darling wife to remove the walls she has built around your mind?"

Erik looked taken aback for a moment, but presumably did as Charles asked, as he frowned in slight discomfort before saying, "She is gone, though I'll pay for it later. How did you know she was there?"

"You're not alone, Erik." Charles raised his fingers to his temple and sought out the other's mind. He found it, well-oiled and brimming with curiosity, and said to it:

_You are not alone._

Erik looked at him then like he'd never seen anything more wonderful in his entire life. And Charles must have projected this thought, because Erik's look of shock and wide-eyed wonder softened into a shaky smile.

"I haven't."

"Haven't what?"

"Seen anything more wonderful than you."

"Erik..." Charles hesitated. Yes, they had both spoken brave words about their admiration for each other, and what they had done, but the future of it all lay in those few seconds of silence. Charles knew that if he went to Erik now, that would be it. It would be the start of something beautiful and mad, that would probably end in heartbreak and scandal. And if he walked away... he honestly didn't know what he'd do. Any future devoid of the man standing in front of him was blank and uncertain, shrouded in mist. Not worth living.

Erik could obviously see the doubt in Charles' expression, because his own was made up of tense apprehension. Charles could feel the desperation in the other's mind rolling and breaking into his, like dark waves on a shore. But he _could _feel him. He could finally feel Erik. Now their minds had touched, Charles couldn't let him go. Resigned to this fate, he closed the distance between them and placed his hands on Erik's shoulders.

"Erik, I pride myself on being a man of logic. I know there is no way this can end well." There were so many people this could affect, so much to lose, but for the first time since he could remember (not counting when he had kissed Erik in the ruin) he wanted to be selfish. He wanted this; he wanted Erik, and damn everything else to hell.

"I want you, Erik." He moved one hand to rest just under Erik's chin, fingers brushing his cheek. "For the life of me I couldn't tell you why. All I know is that I'm drawn to you in every way imaginable. And I'm no hurry to lose that."

Erik smiled at him then, so full of hope that any shreds of doubt that Charles had left were blown away. "In that case, may I...?"

An image of his own lips nudged its way into Charles' mind, making Erik's unfinished question perfectly clear. He pulled himself closer to Erik, faces centimetres apart as he whispered against the other's lips: "You may." He felt Erik's hands then, one on the small of his back and the other at his neck. Their lips pressed together, nothing more, simple and honest as the kiss man and wife share on their wedding day in the church, to show the world their promise to each other.

The sun had gone down properly now, and Erik had long since called in a maid to light the fire. The spring may have brought good weather so far, but Erik insisted that his home was always cold, no matter what the time of year. Charles couldn't argue with that. They were seated close to the hearth, reflected flames glimmering dull on their half empty drinks and their half finished chess game. Erik's set was not as beautiful as his own, but he could see it was well-made. Charles could feel the little smile playing about his lips as it had done all evening, ever since they had shared that quiet kiss. Erik noticed, and his own smile grew.

"What are you thinking about?"

Charles nearly laughed. "It's always strange to me when someone asks that question. It's something I never need to ask. It's all there for me to see, if I need to." He hesitated when he saw Erik frown, and realised how that must have sounded. "No, you misunderstand me. I wouldn't ever rummage through someone's head without asking first, or unless absolutely necessary."

Erik said nothing, only leant back in his chair, further from Charles, and took a sip of his drink.

Charles carried on. "I did try to look into your head once; when you and Emma first visited. I – I found you intriguing. I also didn't want to say something foolish while trying to gain your friendship, so a little peek to check for undesirable conversation topics seemed in order. I apologise for that. But I couldn't get in, obviously. Because of Emma."

Erik's frown deepened. "...Yes."

This wasn't going to be pleasant, but Charles knew it had to be addressed at some point, and he'd rather sooner than later. He leant forward in his chair, trying to close a little of the distance between them Erik had created. "Erik, is she – does she do that often?"

"Do what?"

"Is your wife in your head all the time? A constant presence?"

He didn't think it was possible for Erik to look any more sour, but he managed it. "Not constant. No." He set his drink down. "When there is a great distance between us, or when she is asleep and I awake, she cannot be. Most often, her touch is light. She will only notice sudden mood changes, or sometimes keep track of things just to tease me about it later. She's nosy, and bored. She will usually leave if I ask."

"Usually? You mean she doesn't always?"

"Unfortunately not. She's not as gracious as she used to be."

There was an important question Charles needed to ask, and he felt being blunt was the best way to tackle it. "Does she know how you feel about me?"

Erik suppressed a bitter laugh. "I no longer believe she knows anything much about feelings."

"Erik. Does she know?"

"Yes. It's not the easiest emotion to hide, Charles."

"That could be dangerous. For us, I mean."

"No." Erik shook his head. "I – have been interested in men before. She knows what I am."

"I see." Charles wasn't sure what he was expecting from Erik's past – he didn't really know what he expected from Erik's future – but it still stung a little to know there had been others before him. Other men.

"But you are different, I believe. I do not think there is anyone I've felt so strongly about before Charles."

His strange jealousy eased somewhat at that. "A great compliment indeed. You know of course, I feel the same." Charles tried to show him through their minds; tried to help Erik see the sense of comfort, desire, and exhilaration he felt when he thought of him. Erik had clearly felt Charles touch his mind – he looked back at him with a little disbelief, as though he couldn't quite grasp how strongly Charles felt about him. It was a surprise to Charles too.

"Please," Erik's voice was quiet, "come here a moment."

Not taking his eyes from Erik's face, Charles stood and wove around the table holding their forgotten game. He drew himself into the other's chair, his lap, one knee either side of Erik's thighs. It seemed the most natural thing in all the world. Or so Charles thought, until his lips met Erik's again, and it was as natural as drawing a breath. They kissed slowly, savouring the still new sensation of it all, of each other. Erik's mouth tasted of brandy. A niggling thought at the back of Charles' mind told him a woman could never taste like that. Then Erik drew Charles' bottom lip into his mouth and bit down just slightly, and Charles curled his fingers tightly in the hair at the back of Erik's head. And they kissed harder, more desperate; like the first time they had, in the ruin. Just the memory of it drove Charles on, chasing that feeling. He was all too aware of how close his body was to Erik's – he was sitting across the man's groin for Christ's sake – but he wanted to be closer still.

"Charles," Erik pulled his mouth away a fraction to breathe out his name, "Charles please. Stop."

That last word managed to cut through Charles' Erik-induced haze. "I'm sorry." His face was hot, from the fire in the grate and the heat of the moment. "I was being terribly forward."

Erik actually laughed at that. "I think we might be a bit late for social niceties." Charles made to stand, embarrassed, but Erik kept his grip firm around his middle. "Please, stay where you are Charles. I just meant that we are perhaps taking things too quickly. I would like to savour this." His eyes had a glint in them that Charles guessed had nothing to do with the firelight. For some reason he didn't care to explore, he found this reassuring.

"Alright." He kissed Erik lightly on the lips.

"That, and I don't trust Emma not to delve into our minds. She must be lurking about the house somewhere."

"It's hard to imagine her lurking." Charles bit his lip, not sure if he was about to cross a line. "You do realise I could probably shut her out, if you wanted."

Erik paused for a second, before shaking his head. "You could, I know. But that's something to discuss another time. There's a lot we need to think about."

Charles slumped a little in Erik's lap, gentlemanly posture be damned. "Yes, I suppose so."

"I just wish we could do said thinking without the watchful eyes and ears of our households. And the watchful mind of my wife's."

"There must be somewhere we can go..." Charles laced Erik's fingers between his own as he thought, noticing the small thrum of happiness from Erik's mind as he did so. "Erik? How would you feel about taking a little trip?"

...

**AN: Ok, so their relationship might be moving a bit fast. Nevermind. So, we're off on holiday next chapter. Expect Marvel cameos and sexual shenanigans.**

**Lyrics from **_**Timshel**_**, by Mumford and Sons. They will forever mean Cherik to me, it's too late to change this now haha.**

**Also, massive thanks to people leaving reviews, it means a lot that you take the time to do so. **

**I've just realised that the little stars I've been using to break up sections of the story don't show up in format. Bugger. So if you come across two paragraphs smushed together that don't really fit, this is why. I'll try dashes instead. **


	7. Chapter 7

Charles was not a lover of the coast, although, as with most things, he was able to see the beauty in it. The French town was small (less chance of meeting holidaying acquaintances) and made up of low granite cottages squatting around the harbour walls. From the window of the room they had rented (they'd actually taken two rooms for appearance's sake, besides, Charles wasn't sure he was ready to share a bed with the man just yet) a thin stretch of sand was visible where it met the surprisingly bright blue waters. He was wondering if Erik might take a walk there later, when the man in question knocked on his door.

"Get changed Charles, we're going out."

This caught him by surprise. "We've just arrived."

Erik smiled, the smile Charles noticed was on the man's face more and more frequently. "I want to get there before dark."

"Alright."

With a bow, Erik left, leaving Charles to get ready, and once again wonder what the hell he had gotten himself into.

Two hours later, light was starting to go from the sky as the carriage drew into a larger town a fair distance inland.

Drawing on any dregs of schoolboy French he could, Charles had guessed that Erik had informed the inn's owner that they were brothers, headed to a family function a few towns away, and wouldn't be back until late that night. The fact that he had then spent the majority of the journey kissing Charles' neck made their false identities even more morally questionable.

As a result, Charles was a little flustered – despite Erik appearing as straight-backed and composed as ever – when the carriage halted in the town square. Erik paid the driver, and arranged for him to pick them up later on. He led Charles down pretty side-streets that he would have loved to look closer at, if Erik hadn't been in such a hurry. Despite Charles' questioning, and only half joking threats that he'd look into his mind, Erik refused to say where they were going, only that it was a place a friend of his had suggested. They stopped outside a large but mis-matched looking building at the end of a street, with any number of small balconies, doors, and windows. Charles thought it looked awfully quiet, and a bit, well... suspect, for lack of a better word.

"Good evening sirs," a dark-skinned man holding a fine cane stepped from the shadowed doorframe, "shall I open the gate for you?"

"Thank you, but the gate is already open," Erik replied, not missing a beat.

The man tipped his hat, smiling, and stepped aside. Charles still hadn't quite processed this strange exchange as he followed Erik through the door.

They were met with an empty hallway, explaining why it seemed so quiet from outside. The illusion didn't last; they pushed open another door into a smoky pub filled with cheerful chatter, dark wood and over-stuffed furniture. It smelt a strange mix of beer and perfume, which Charles credited to the group of heavily made-up women at the bar. He felt out of place – at least with the unpleasant society at home, he knew what to expect. To calm himself, he let his mind wander, touching the minds of those around him. He was met with the pleasant thrum of contentment, a hazy fuzz of too much drink, and a faint spark of want.

"A drink, Charles?" He jumped at Erik's hand on his elbow.

"Yes, thank you." He needed one.

"What can I get you?"

"You know, I honestly have no idea."

"Allow me to make that choice easier for you boys." A large man smelling strongly of smoke stepped up behind the bar. "Beer, red wine, or brandy. We like to keep things simple."

"In that case, two wines. " Erik ordered for them. "Are you Logan, by any chance?"

The bartender's face hardened. "Who wants to know?"

"A friend who recommended this place mentioned you, that is all. I'm Erik Lehnsherr."

"Charles Xavier."

"Go fuck yourselves." With a sharp smile suggesting he was not entirely serious, the man placed their drinks on the bar with a flourish before stalking over to the women.

Erik only grinned at his abrupt reply as he led Charles to a small table in the corner, sitting opposite him. "So, care to take a guess at where I've brought you Charles?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. It seems an ordinary pub to me."

"Take a look around."

He did: there was the bar, the questionably mannered barman, the women, and the rest of the patrons, drinking and talking as in any pub. "I'm afraid I don't see anything out of the ordinary, my friend."

"Dear God, Charles," Erik rolled his eyes, "for all your gifts, you can be remarkably slow." Charles made to retort, but Erik cut him off. "Look again. Look at the tables."

Still annoyed at being called slow, he did so. There was a large table in the corner with a group of men, one with just two men, one with three men, another with just two, and they were sitting very close together... "Oh good Lord."

"The penny has dropped, I see."

"But it can't be, there's _women_ at the bar."

"For the love of God Charles, you need to get out of your house more. They are not women."

"What? Of course they – " Erik was right; despite their layered make-up, long skirts, and the way they pouted and giggled over whatever Logan was saying to them, they were not women. Definitely not, judging by the Adam's apple on that redhead. "Ah. Right." Charles felt himself redden, though whether it was from his naivety or because they were in a 'queer' establishment, he wasn't sure.

"Does it embarrass you Charles," Erik purred, leaning close enough for Charles to feel the words against his neck, "that I've brought you to a place where people can see us?" Erik's hand was on his thigh, and Charles found he was really very happy about it being there. "Somewhere that people know what we are?" His mouth had moved right next to Charles' ear. "Know what we do?"

Charles was about to ignore every instinct he had and kiss Erik in that room full of people, when he felt someone sit heavily on the seat next to him.

"Fresh meat! Haven't seen you around here before." Charles turned to see a man with impeccably trimmed facial hair and a brash American accent. "Name's Tony Stark," he held out his hand for Charles to shake, "and this is my associate, Steven Rogers." He gestured to the broad-shouldered blonde who had taken the seat next to Erik, much to the man's displeasure.

"Associate." He frowned. "Honestly."

Mr Stark didn't miss a beat. "Well, I was going to say 'the man I am fucking,' but I thought that might be a bit forward for a first meeting."

Erik just glowered at him, unimpressed. Charles noticed a metal tankard on a dusty shelf rattle with Erik's annoyance, and reached out under the table to rest a hand on his knee. He wasn't about to let the evening turn sour. "Wonderful to meet you Mr Stark, Mr Rogers." He shook hands with the latter. "I'm Charles Xavier, and this is my... this is Erik Lehnsherr."

"Pleasure to meet you," added Mr Rogers, with the most fantastic smile Charles had ever seen; he couldn't help but smile back. Erik however, looked mildly disgusted, like Mr Rogers was an insect he wished to step on.

_Erik,_ Charles spoke directly to his mind, _they're just being friendly. We should be thankful there are others we can speak openly with, and be ourselves. There are many who would not be so courteous – surely it's better not to be alone. Besides, _he hesitated_, there's plenty of time for other things later. _He gripped Erik's knee harder to make his point clear. He glanced across to see that Erik's expression had cleared, but his jaw was still tight.

"So what brings you two to this part of the world? You're obviously not from here."

Mr Stark apparently chose to ignore Erik's thinly veiled jibe. "That's correct sir. We're from the States, where, I don't mean to brag, but I'm a pretty big deal. Stark Industries, heard of it? Me and Mr Rogers here like to take a break sometimes. Go places where we don't have to limit ourselves to polite handshakes and business talk. Where I can do this," he leant across the table to press a kiss to Steve's lips, "and nobody will punch me."

"Or arrest you." Steve added.

"Or arrest me. Oh, memories." He sighed. "What's your story?"

"Um, we – " Charles started, with no idea what he was going to say.

"We'd rather not discuss it, if you don't mind." Erik cut in. Well, it was more polite than a lot of the other answers Charles heard running through his head.

"We're still figuring things out."

"Ah, say no more." Mr Stark looked around, as if just noticing he was missing something. "Where's that big guy gone? THOR?"

"Thor?" Charles raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah," Steve smiled, "As in the –"

"Norse God." Erik finished.

"Unusual name." Said Charles.

"Yeah," Tony waved someone over from the bar, "Nobody knows what the big bastard's really called. Doesn't speak a word of English, or French for that matter. No idea what he's doing here, to be honest. But, he's very generous with the drinks." He clapped the shoulder of the huge, bearded man who had lumbered over and sat down at the head of the table. The newcomer grinned, and passed everyone a cup. Beer. Not Charles' drink of choice, but when in Rome...

'Thor' raised his glass, and said something in a Scandinavian language Charles wasn't quite sure of, before knocking back the entire cupful. Charles knew a challenge when he saw one.

A couple of hours and too many rounds of 'Can anyone drink faster than Thor?' later, Charles finally gave in to Erik's mental plea to go back to the inn. It was probably for the best – despite his impressive drink tolerance, Thor was nearly asleep, and Logan was none too subtly asking people to leave.

With Mr Stark's address in his pocket (which Erik wasn't too thrilled about) and the promise to keep in touch, Charles led the way back to the square where the carriage was waiting, stumbling only a little. He gratefully accepted Erik's hand to help him in to the carriage, trying to ignore the suggestion that this made him the female half of whatever their relationship was.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Though not dangerously drunk, Charles' head was swimming. Erik's too, if the hazy, half-formed thoughts he was projecting were anything to go by. He found this endearing, although he knew he probably shouldn't. But there was one other thing bothering him.

"You're keeping something from me Erik. You've been shouting it with your mind all evening."

Erik grinned at him with even more teeth than usual, but said nothing.

"How the hell you've managed to hide from me what the actual secret is, I don't know. But I'm impressed."

"You forget Charles, that I've spent the best years of my life married to a woman who can literally read my thoughts. I've had a lot of practice."

"So... are you going to tell me now?" Charles leant forward and Erik mirrored him, lips almost touching, bumping together as the carriage jolted.

"No." And Erik drew back again, the teasing bastard.

Back in his room at the guest house, Charles was readying for bed. The long journey and cold night had taken the edge off the drink, his head clearer. He reached out, sensing the landlord asleep in his rooms, three other slumbering guests, and Erik next door – a strange buzz of nervousness.

He pushed this from his mind so as not to invade the other's privacy, and moved to look out of the window. Not that he could see a lot – the only light was the odd candle from a window and the moon on the water. He heard the latch on the door lifted, and a moment later Erik was behind him, arms around his middle and a nose buried in Charles' hair. He smiled and leant into him, tipping his head back on Erik's shoulder. The latter took this as an invitation, and turned his head to press open-mouthed kisses under Charles' jaw. He felt himself moan and tried to hide it; he didn't want to give Erik the satisfaction of showing him just how much he was enjoying this. Not yet.

His resolve soon melted when Erik began to use his teeth, and Charles turned to face him, pulling him into a proper kiss. There was a moment when Moira flashed into his mind, his determined beauty, his strawberries and cream with a kick. This should be them, married and honeymooning on the French coast, finally allowed to discover each other, the tedium of courtship over and done. But then Erik bit his bottom lip, and it was harder to feel guilty about someone so far away when Erik was so close. So very close.

Erik's thoughts were a broken stream of _touch me God your mouth touch me_. Who was Charles to deny the man what he wanted? He smirked before kissing softer, teasing Erik's lips with his own, making the man work for it. He moved his hands from where they had rested on Erik's shoulders to run over his chest, settle on his waist, and... wait.

That wasn't right.

He pulled out of the kiss, ignoring Erik's groan of protest, and looked down at his hands where they sat around Erik's middle, over his shirt.

"Erik?"

"Mmm, what?" He was trying to recapture Charles' mouth with his own, but Charles batted him away. He tugged Erik's shirt from his trousers and raised it.

"Erik, what are you –? Oh."

Erik was wearing a corset. It was white and simple; the practical kind, not decorative. It brought in his small waist even tighter, making him sharper, more angular, where it would have made a woman curvaceous.

"Erik, I..." He ran the tips of his fingers down one of the panels, catching on the fabric.

"Do you like it?" Charles looked back at Erik to see him flushed, half smiling, and anxious as to what Charles would do next.

He groaned in reply, his desire and gratitude seeping through. "Erik it's wonderful. You're wonderful." _I don't know how I lived without you._

Erik laughed softly and rested his forehead on Charles', "I'm glad you approve."

"Very much so. But – that is – how did you know that I wanted you... like this?"

It was Erik's turn to smirk. "Sometimes, your thoughts... they're very intense Charles."

"What? I'm sorry, but I really don't remember ever thinking of you like this. I mean, not while you were close enough for me to project it to you." It was times like this that he realised how little he knew about his ability. Not that there had been many times like this one before.

Erik was rubbing the small of his back, and it was getting harder to focus on the subtle technicalities of his gift under those hands. "Do you remember," he murmured, breath on Charles' lips, "the evening we dined at your home, and my untouched dessert spoon miraculously ended up on your floor?"

"Of course. And now I know it was because of your gift, what of it?"

"I lost control of it Charles. Do you know what it takes to make me lose control?"

_I'd be more than happy to find out._

If Erik had heard that, he chose to ignore it. "I saw your thoughts. I saw you wanted me. Me, laced up, my mouth on yours and you wrapped around me, both desperate for more." His voice was low and rough at Charles' throat. "That was enough for me to lose control. More than enough. I believed it was Emma," a frown creased his brow, "it's the sort of thing she would do. But when I found out about your gift..."

"Well then," Charles started, sounding more authoritative than he felt, "let's see if I can make you call up the metal from the very earth itself."

Erik looked at Charles like he was about to eat him, which Charles wouldn't have minded one bit. They kissed again – Charles' hands on Erik – fingers on corset boning and nails scraping up the laces. He could feel the metal hooks at the front thrumming with Erik's pleasure. Casting his misgivings aside, Charles brought his hand to the front of Erik's trousers. Erik hissed at the contact and pressed against him harder, rocking into his hand. Charles felt Erik on him in return, long fingers stroking through the fabric. It was heavenly – or perhaps that word wasn't quite appropriate – but he wasn't about to let Erik win control so easily. He broke free from the kiss, un-buttoning Erik's trousers and pushing his clothing down, leaving him in just the corset. As determined as he was not to appear the virgin, Charles couldn't help but stare.

To be painfully honest, he's barely ever given much thought to his own penis, never mind someone else's. He'd never seen another man hard, either. And there Erik was; circumcised – expected, given his background – and of a size that made him concerned for Emma's wellbeing.

"She doesn't get to see me often."

"What?"

"You were thinking loudly."

"Oh."

"Now come here."

Charles arched an eyebrow. "I'll do what I like, thank you Mr Lehnsherr."

He moved closer anyway, backing Erik up against the wall. He moved to kiss Charles, but instead found fingers pressed to his lips, barring his way. Charles got down on his knees, face level with Erik's erection. The latter looked down at him, shocked but certainly not displeased. Charles covered his anxiety with what he hoped was a seductive smile. He had no idea what he was doing; all he was going on were loud discussions (both literal and mental) overheard at the men's club. Most of them seemed to agree this was one of the most pleasurable things a woman could do for a man. Not that he was casting himself as the woman, you understand.

He pressed a kiss to the tip of Erik's cock, partly because this seemed the first logical step and partly just because he wanted to. Erik shivered, and Charles felt his fingers curl into the hair on the back of his head. This was no time to do things by halves. He took Erik into his mouth, as far as he could without gagging. Which turned out wasn't very far – unsurprising given his lack of experience – though Erik did not seem to mind.

"Good God, Charles. I never thought I'd see the day when the man of Xavier Manor would suck my cock."

Charles wasn't sure if that was meant to be an insult or a general observation, so he let it slide and sucked harder, running his tongue along Erik's cock, going purely on what he imagined would feel pleasurable himself. Erik thrust back into his mouth, and Charles had to place his hands on the wall to stop himself falling backward.

"You know," Erik spoke through gritted teeth, "for someone who's supposedly never done this before, you're rather good at it."

_Beginner's luck. _

Erik laughed softly. "Perhaps. Charles?"

"Hmm?" He hummed around Erik's cock.

"Agh! Come... come here. I want to kiss you."

Charles did as Erik asked and drew away from his cock, pressing a wet kiss to his hip bone before standing. He felt the hard dampness pressing against him, his own saliva rubbing from Erik's cock onto his trousers. Their lips met again, harder and more impatient than before, the taste of Erik still on Charles' tongue.

"You're wearing far too many clothes for my liking, Charles. Take them off for me."

Charles quirked an eyebrow, but did so, removing each piece of clothing and tossing it aside, never looking away from Erik's face. Now naked, he felt Erik's eyes running over him, felt his mind humming even faster with arousal and hunger. Charles went to him and pressed their bodies close, feeling the scratch of the Erik's corset against his chest, their hips align and their cocks rub together. Erik brought his hands around to Charles' backside, gripping hard and pulling him closer, fingertips digging in.

Charles pulled back. Erik touching him in this way sharply reminded him of what he was doing. He vaguely knew the mechanics of how two men slept together and he trusted Erik – how could he not – but the thought of it unnerved him.

"Charles?"

"Erik, I – I want to do this, with you, but I'm afraid I –" he stopped, reluctant to ruin the moment. "It's just a little daunting, that's all."

His concerns must have trickled into Erik's mind, because the man smirked and said softly, "There's a great deal more to sex than anal penetration Charles."

Charles grimaced at his frankness. "Thank you for putting it so charmingly."

"Let me show you?" Erik pressed soft kisses on Charles' face and neck, so disarming that he barely noticed Erik laying him down on the bed, sitting across him, effectively trapping him between his thighs. Grinning in a way Charles could only describe as wicked, Erik grasped both their cocks together in one hand and stroked. Charles felt something jolt in his stomach at the unexpected sensation, and arched up into Erik's hand, his own fingertips scrabbling at the corset. His mind was lost then, to a frantic haze of want, pleasure and _more_. His mind and Erik's joined similarly to their bodies, barely acknowledging whose thoughts were whose anymore

When Charles looked back on those next few days him and Erik spent together in France, he could barely recall any conversation they had shared. What he did remember was Erik pressed tightly behind him as they sat together by the window, and looked out over the harbour at dusk. Tangled sheets. He remembered trying to drag Erik fully clothed into the sea, and succeeding. He remembered the feel of Erik's hand briefly in his, rough and sticky with dried seawater. It was all touches, sensations, things he couldn't sum up in words. He felt that maybe that should trouble him, but it didn't. What did trouble him was the thought that when they returned home, all of this strange, precarious situation would shatter and fall apart. Erik smiled at him as they boarded the ferry, and he dearly hoped it wouldn't.

...

AN: Sorry this took so long, I was in London for a few days, at the tattoo convention

Also, it was a long ass chapter for me. I suppose it could be counted as an interlude – not really a lot happens plot-wise – I just wanted cameos and corsets.

There was a Mumford and Sons gig on TV while I was typing this out. Right in the feels.

Awkward when you're trying to write porn and your parents are hovering around the room watching Bargain Hunt. It doesn't exactly help my already poor porn writing skills.

I've read so much fanfiction it's getting hard to remember what's canon. I DO NOT EVEN KNOW WHAT I'M DOING ANYMORE.


	8. Chapter 8

_And it was not your fault but mine,_

_And it was your heart on the line,_

_I really fucked it up this time,_

_Didn't I my dear?_

_Didn't I my dear._

Despite the late hour he arrived home, Charles noticed soft light coming through a downstairs window. Raven had waited up for him then. A smile came unbidden to his tired face. As much as Erik had distracted him from his home life, he couldn't deny that he had missed his sister; her humming loudly as she dressed in the morning, her eye-rolling and poking fun.

He pushed open the drawing room door to find her dozing in his chair, abysmal attempt at embroidery in her lap. He smiled fondly and moved to stroke the hair from her temple. Her eyes shot open and her skin flashed blue, hand grabbing at his wrist.

"Welcome home!"

"Good God Raven!" Charles pulled his hand back, irritated, but laughing along with her all the same. "Scare me half to death why don't you."

"Sorry Charles, but... well no, I'm not sorry. Come here." She stood and pulled him into a tight hug. "I missed you. Did you miss me?"

"Well..." Charles hesitated, watching Raven's yellow eyes widen in mock outrage. "Of course I did."

"Of course you did. Now, tell me everything."

"Raven, it's long after midnight, and we both need to go to bed. We can talk about it tomorrow."

"Ugh, fine. Every little detail, mind you. Except the boring parts."

He laughed, despite the flicker of panic that went through him. Every little detail... He would have to invent days spent in France which didn't involve him wrapped around Erik kissing him silly, which was difficult when all he wanted to do was kiss him again. But that was a problem for tomorrow.

"Tomorrow. And don't let anybody see you..."

"Blue?"

"Blue. Goodnight, Raven."

As they had agreed, Erik did not visit Charles in the days following their return. Not that their meeting would appear suspicious – they were known to be good friends – but Charles had apparently thought it best for their sanity to get settled back home again without each other's constant presence. He was right of course, as much as Erik wanted to disagree, and he had only put up a token resistance. It was just the staff he had to fool anyway – as soon as he'd walked in the door Emma had known almost everything about their trip – he'd grown so used to leaving his mind open for Charles that he'd neglected to shut out his wife.

Four days later, and exceptionally glad to leave behind the smirks and the suggestive comments Emma was making in front of the servants, he called on Xavier Manor. He waited by the door after he had rung the bell, listening to the footman approaching to let him in.

"Good morning."

"Yes. I'm here to see – Charles! What the devil are you doing answering your own door?"

The man of the house grinned and waved him inside. "I was passing the door anyway, it made sense not to disturb anyone from their other duties. Besides," he tapped his temple, "I knew it was you."

"Very clever." Erik said dryly, swinging the door shut with a wave of his hand, noting the barely hidden smile Charles gave him whenever he used his gift. "No need to look at me with such pride Charles, I'm not a puppy who learned how to sit."

Charles' smile didn't falter. Erik couldn't help but wonder if it ever did. "I know that, my friend." He sobered then, and placed his hand on Erik's shoulder. "I've missed you. And I don't think I'd need my gift to know that you feel the same."

"So much for not looking in to my mind." Erik tried to be irritated, he really did, but he could never quite find it in him when it came to Charles.

"I didn't have to. You're radiating it." He was closer now, his breath ghosting Erik's lips and a hand grasping his neck tie. "Kiss me."

"Charles – "

"Come Erik, don't be such a prude."

The man in question raised his eyebrow. "A prude, Charles? Sometimes I think you hardly know me at all." He allowed himself to be pushed back against the wall of the hallway, next to the coat rack.

"I know that. It's just such fun to provoke you." Charles spoke quietly, and Erik could hear his smile through the words. He nipped at Erik's ear then, leaving the latter quite unable to argue. At least for the moment. Instead he pulled Charles' face to his own, mouths meeting, teeth clicking as they remembered the shape of each other's kiss. He ran his hands under Charles' jacket, over his chest, down his sides and across his back, bringing him closer. It wasn't until he felt a hand close around the front of his trousers that his senses rushed back to him.

"Mmm hm no. Charles, stop it." He extricated himself and looked back at his lover, breathing hard. "For God's sake, we're in the hall of your house. Your house full of very busy, very nosy staff."

"They're not nosy."

"Charles, I've met them."

"Oh yes. Still, rather exciting, don't you think?"

"...You are unbelievable."

"I know." Charles grinned wickedly, and moved to kiss Erik again. There was a clatter and a giggle as a maid dropped something in the kitchen, and Erik jerked back so hard he knocked his head on the wall. He grunted in pain as Charles attempted to hide his amusement.

"I'm glad you find this funny."

"I am sorry Erik. But please, stop worrying. I've missed you, and I'd rather like to show you how much."

"Charles..."

"Yes?"

And who on God's good earth had the power to say no to those brilliant blue eyes? "Charles. Kiss me." Erik just caught a glimpse of the other's mouth before his own was attacked, slowly and deliberately, which he gladly reciprocated. His hands found Charles again, one arm looped tight around his middle, the other resting by his throat. He prodded hard at the bruises he guessed would have nearly faded from Charles' skin by now, reminding his lover who he belonged to. Charles moaned at that, and Erik decided there and then he would have to mark him once more as soon as the opportunity arose. Charles pushed him back harder against the wall, his thigh fitting nicely between Erik's, rubbing against him. Without thinking, Erik opened his legs a little wider, taking any opportunity to bring them closer together. He growled and broke the kiss. "Who could possibly want anything else in this world Charles, when they have you?"

"I'm afraid you do have me now, Erik. Whether you want me or not, I'm afraid you have me."

Erik could find no better answer for that other than to kiss him again.

There was a small click, the most inconsequential and simple noise in the world, as the front door opened.

Moira.

Moira was standing in the doorway.

Moira was standing in the doorway, feet away from where Erik was pinned to the wall by her fiancé. He carefully pulled back from the kiss as he saw her; her face set in quivering rage as she took in the scene before her. His mind was blank, that tingling white emptiness that only happens when you're caught in those strange few seconds of pure panic.

"Erik, what –?" Charles froze, too late in feeling Moira's mind, and his face fell. Erik gently pushed him away, hearing the thick rush of _Did she see? Of course she saw. Why didn't she knock? Curse her lack of formality. Why didn't she knock? God Moira I'm so sorry. _They slowly turned to face her, Erik taking care to leave an appropriate amount of space between their previously connected bodies. Not that it mattered anymore, but he knew Charles would have wanted him to behave properly in front of Moira. It seemed laughable, now.

"Moira... Moira, my darling, I –"

"Don't!" She stepped back as he approached her, then seemed to change her mind and lunged forward instead, slapping him smartly across the face. As much as it annoyed Erik she had done so, he couldn't argue with her reasoning; had he been in her place... Charles appeared to agree; he said nothing, but continued to look at Moira, tight-lipped, his cheek reddening where she'd hit him. "Do not call me your darling."

"Moira, I am so terribly sorry."

"Sorry? You expect me to accept an apology?" She was incredulous, face drained of colour and eyes opened wide. "You are kissing another man right in front of my eyes, and you expect me be comforted by a 'sorry?'"

"Of course not, Moira I –"

"You what, Charles? I do not believe there is a single thing on this earth you could say that would make this any better."

Erik stood aside, trying to appear invisible but at the same time desperately trying to come up with something, anything, to make this better, at least for Charles if not himself. There was nothing.

"And you," she rounded on Erik, "You're married! You have a wife, and yet you find it necessary to dally with other people's fiancés? You disgust me."

It was now or never. "Miss McTaggert –"

"No! You do not get to address me, Mr Lehnsherr, for you are the devil to me, and I do not wish to be dragged down with you."

"Moira, please don't be –"

"Don't be what, Charles? Don't be angry? Don't be upset? Utterly humiliated?"

Erik heard footsteps on the flagstones, and looked up to see Raven hurrying down the corridor towards them, her skin with a strange tint to it. "Charles? Charles what's going on?" She looked between the three of them, eyes hauntingly bright in her nervous smile. "I didn't know you were calling on us Moira."

"I'm leaving." All pretence of social niceties was dropped as she swept down the front steps, turning at the bottom to call back, "And if you could possibly think I will still be marrying you after this, Mr Xavier, you are sorely mistaken. I will not attach myself nor my family to someone as deceptive, as degenerate as I have learnt you to be." She waved away the hand the footman offered her, and climbed into her carriage.

Erik desperately wanted to leave, to escape from Raven's imminent questioning, and the flood of emotion Charles was projecting at him, intentional or otherwise. But he couldn't just abandon him either, not after what had happened. But what else could he do...

"Charles, what on earth have you done?" Raven was staring at him in utter confusion. "What was Moira talking about, 'deceptive?' What's happened?"Her brother was still frozen, staring down the driveway where Moira's carriage was slowly drawing further and further away. "Charles." She grasped his forearms and he jerked back to himself. "Please tell me what happened."

"Later." His voice came out a cracked whisper. "Erik," he spoke without looking at him, "I think its best you go now."

"Of course." He moved to the door, but hesitated, wanting to hug Charles, shake his hand, anything, just to show him he wasn't alone. But he still wasn't meeting Erik's eye, so he chose to not push the fragile situation any further. He left, and the sound of the door shutting heavily behind him was one of the worst he'd ever heard.

...

AN: This one's a little shorter, sorry. Feels a bit rushed too, but I imagine this is the sort of break up that would happen quickly. I hope Moira didn't turn out too whiney, I don't want her to be. I have to say, I'd be a hell of a lot more whiney than that in her situation.

Lyrics are from Mumford and Sons' _Little Lion Man._


	9. Chapter 9

_A white blank page_

_And a swelling rage, rage._

_You did not think,_

_When you sent me to the brink, brink._

_You desired my attention,_

_But denied my affections, affections._

_So tell me now where was my fault,_

_In loving you with my whole heart?_

The next few days were nothing short of torture for Erik. He knew Charles well enough to stay away for a while; knew he preferred to think things through, hated being pushed to a decision. Usually, Erik himself followed no such mantra. But _Charles..._ It was true what he had said to Charles before – he had never felt so strongly about another man, another person. But the man was so infuriatingly good at hiding how he felt for the sake of others. No matter the times he had held Erik close and whispered to the darkness of his mind, he didn't dare to hope Charles wouldn't push him away the moment he turned up at his front door.

And Moira's words had stuck with him – she had called him the devil. He had been called many things before, many of them negative and some of them true, but never a word that hit him so hard. Did Charles agree with her? Even if he didn't, would Erik's presence turn him into something horrid and tainted? No, even Erik was not so self-important as that. Nonetheless, it was a lingering doubt he couldn't shake.

To top it all off was the overlying sense of guilt. Moira was discreet, she wouldn't shout out what she'd seen to all society. Rumours may trickle out all the same, but they could be easily squashed, if Charles so wished. No, what mattered was that he'd ruined Charles' chance at happiness. Him and Moira, charming host and hostess of grand parties at the manor, all secret smiles and subtle touches. They would have beautiful, happy children with brown curls and dimples, happy servants, happy bloody dogs – and as much as the image made him writhe in displeasure and jealousy, the thought that he had deprived Charles of this happy life was heartbreaking.

The only positive point so far was that Emma appeared to be staying out of his head. At this point in time, he was willing to take the smallest of victories.

He was once again standing on Charles' doorstep, trying desperately not to think of the last time he had done so, and unsure of what to expect when it opened. Could the other feel his mind from inside the house – uncertainty, guilt, need? Whatever was to happen, he embraced it. Anything was better than stalking up and down his study like a caged beast while the bottle under his desk grew steadily emptier. Patience was not his strength. After what seemed a ridiculously long wait, the maid – Kitty? – opened the door to him. He tried to give her a smile.

"Good morning, I'd like to – "

"I'm sorry sir, but I'm not permitted to let you in."

"Oh." Alright, things may have been worse than he had expected. Perhaps Charles needed longer to think, loathe as Erik was to give him that time. "In that case, could you at least tell him that I called?"

"I'm sorry sir – "

"For goodness sake, can't you – "

"Kitty?" A female voice reverberated down the hallway, and Raven appeared next to the maid. Her face noticeably hardened and – did her eyes actually _flash_? – when she saw him. "I'll deal with this Kitty, thank you."

"Yes Ma'am." She bobbed a curtsey and left. Raven stepped outside and closed the front door behind her, leaving her and Erik on the doorstep.

"I was wondering when you'd show up. To be perfectly honest, I thought it would have been sooner." Erik wasn't sure what she was getting at, so held his tongue. "You're looking for Charles." It wasn't a question.

"Yes. Please Miss Xavier, let me speak with him at least."

"No."

"Raven," he dropped the formalities, if there was any time to get more personal, this was it, "Raven, what harm could it possibly – "

"You can't, Mr Lehnsherr."

"What?" He ran his hand through his hair, becoming rapidly frustrated with the entire situation. "Why on earth not?"

"He's not here."

"..."

"And don't bother asking where he is. I wouldn't tell you even if I did know."

He knew that Emma must have sensed his mood as soon as she returned home; he felt her boldly request permission to enter his thoughts, her own full of questions. He tried to shut her out, content to wallow in his misfortune undisturbed, but she wouldn't relent. He should know her well enough by now to have realised she would not give in. Which is why he was unsurprised when she stalked into his study without knocking, still in the process of removing her hat and gloves after her outing.

"What happened?"

He growled and pushed his head deeper between his hands. "Leave me be Emma. I've no wish to put up with your interrogation."

She snorted with laughter in an unladylike manner she would never dream of adopting in public. "And I've no wish to put up with your brooding. Out with it. We both know I'll find out sooner or later anyway."

He knew it to be true, and his nerves were still too raw to evade her probing for too long. After leaving her to stew for a few moments, he finally spit out, "It's Charles."

She smirked, unsurprised. "Your whore?"

His fists clenched in an effort to contain his anger; he felt the watch chain in his waistcoat humming, coins on the table lift. He looked up sharply and glared at her, hoping his look was enough to silence her flippant insults.

"For goodness sake Erik, you never show any compassion for my conquests, why should I bother with yours, hmm?" She arched an eyebrow. He was unsure how to answer, so settled for clenching his jaw tighter and staring at the floorboards. Often if he ignored her, she'd grow bored and leave him alone. Instead, she greeted his silence with a short intake of shocked laughter. "You actually love him don't you? Or at least something very close." She didn't need him to answer to know she was right. "Good God Erik. Everybody knows the first rule of an affair is to never fall in love with your mistress." He could still feel her presence in his thoughts, a delicate trill of amusement.

"Enough, Emma." He spoke louder than he meant to, not meeting her gaze. "Yes." He lowered his voice. "Yes, you're right. Are you happy now?"

"Not particularly, no." She sighed and sat down heavily next to him. "What happened?"

He sneered at her. "You know perfectly well. You spend half your time digging around in my mind when you're not wanted."

"As low as your opinion of me is Erik, I'm surprised you think I wander so deeply and so freely into your head. I do have limits."

He laughed softly in disbelief. "Of course. It does not matter – he's gone. I don't know where. I'm sure you can dig up the rest for yourself."

She didn't answer. This in itself was unusual enough for Erik to sneak a glance at her face. Her lips were pursed, brow furrowed in thought. When she did speak, it was softer than he'd heard her voice in years. "I could find him for you. If you wished it."

"I... what did you say?"

She turned to look at him then, a strange urgency on her face. "I've never attempted it before, but I could try to extend the reach of my gift. To find him for you."

"And why on earth would you want to do that?"

She sighed, as if the answer were the most obvious thing in the world. "I may not be your perfect partner Erik, but I like to think I'm loyal when it matters. Do not look at me like that, I said _when it matters._ We used to love each other Erik. Not like you love Charles, I can see that, but our own kind of love. I'd like to think we could still have that."

And Erik honestly didn't know what to say. He'd spent so much time looking at his wife with blind hatred on the bad days and irritation on the good, that he had rarely had time to remember that he used to love her. He wasn't sure if he could still find it in him somewhere, to look upon her with fondness once more. But considering what she was offering to do for him – risk her own wellbeing to find the man her husband loved – he was willing to give it a try. That by no means meant he knew how to tell her this, so he kissed her forehead and hoped she could pick up on the gratitude in his thoughts. She gave him a thin smile in return.

"Now, if you'd be so kind as to bugger off, so I can scour the country for your wayward love without your moping distracting me."

...Rebuilding their friendship was going to take a lot of work.

Nearly two hours later, Erik had begun to doubt in Emma's ability. He knew that was unfair of him, but she had never given him reason to think her talents went further than poking around uninvited in his thoughts for the best way to piss him off. He had tried to check on her progress, but Emma had positioned her most ferocious lady's maid at her door, who absolutely refused Erik's request to enter. He had instead retired once more to his study, flinging coins at the wood panelling and taking a sadistic pleasure in the dull thunk as the metal embedded itself in the wood. He was nearing the point of telling her to give it up when she came in without knocking, holding her head high though she was clearly exhausted. He poured her a small brandy as she flopped on to the window seat. She didn't much care for brandy, he knew this, but he also knew when his wife needed a drink. Living with someone who spends most of their time arguing with you does that to a person. He left her in silence for a moment, twisting a coin smoothly around his fingers.

"I believe," she said, setting the now empty glass down, "that I have found him."

He was unable to hide his disbelief. The coin dropped to the floor. "How the hell did you manage that!?"

She sighed and rubbed her temples. "It was a question of mind over matter. I stretched my thoughts out further, thinner, than ever before. I heard a lot of things I'd rather not have. I had an inkling, from my forays into your head, that Charles was also gifted. Of course, I never went too far in that direction, there were so many other, much more entertaining memories of your time together." she flashed him the sharp smile he'd grown to dislike so, "But when I finally did brush against his mind, it was familiar to me. We'd touched minds before, just for the briefest moment, when we were visiting them. You don't forget the touch of another's mind once you've felt it."

"Where is he?"

"Did you know," she smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress, "that Miss Xavier is also gifted?"

"Emma, please just tell me – what?"

"Miss Xavier. I couldn't pinpoint her ability exactly – she is too busy fretting over Charles – but I do know she can alter her appearance in some way."

"This is all very fascinating Emma," it honestly was, to know there were more people like himself out there, but he currently had other priorities, "but if you could please tell me where he is?"

She stared at him for a long moment, calculating, deciding if it would be worth pushing him further. "He has gone to London. To forget you."

_As the winter winds litter London with lonely hearts,_

_The warmth in your eyes swept me into your arms._

_Was it love or fear of the cold that led us through the night?_

_For every kiss your beauty trumped my doubt_

Charles was well on his way to being drunk. His tongue was heavy in his mouth, body too warm under his jacket, but face and fingers cold from the chilly evening. He stumbled down the darkened street, grateful for the orange lamps revealing dips and cracks in the pavement. The sharp evening breeze nipped at his exposed hands and face, but did nothing to clear his head. That probably wasn't a good thing, but Charles was glad of it all the same. He did not want a clear head. He did not want to dwell on things he needed to forget: the sting of Moira's words and her hand on his face. Raven's disappointment in him, betrayal so strong she lost control and blazed blue right there in the hallway, for once not caring if a servant wandered in. Erik. Erik's hands, Erik's mouth, Erik's mind.

No.

He had to forget all of it if he ever wanted to feel normal again. As normal as he could be that is. He had hurt everyone he cared about, and it was just too much to bear. He reached the brightly lit doorway to another in a long line of pubs and clubs he had visited that night. The laughter and smoke and tang of alcohol drew him in, and he let it. For the first time since he had realised the nature of his gift, he shut it off. He took in his surroundings; the people, the chatter, but his mind was white, blank, no words or images forming on the page. He didn't want to drown in other's emotion, their hopes and wishes. Their tragedies. Selfish perhaps, but then, he was becoming more and more so of late. Erik's stunned face as Charles admitted his own selfish desires to him and drew closer and – no. No. He wiped the memory away, kept the slate of his mind clean, and stepped up to the bar. He ordered a brandy. And another. He flirted with any young women who came his way, and sometimes their husbands as well. It was a miracle he didn't get a slap. But his mind was clear of troubles and hazy with drink, and he thought he was happy. A dark-haired man slid next to him at the bar, offering to buy him a drink. Charles let him.

Half an hour later he stood, back to the wall, in the alley next to the pub. The smirking stranger pressed against him, quick hands with mischievous touches mapping his body. Charles wondered if his mind was quick too, he could reach out and – no. He clamped his mind closed and kissed harder, willing all thought away and sliding his hands in the stranger's jacket. His tongue was definitely quick at any rate, and Charles was highly appreciative of it.

He stumbled back to the bar sometime later, both satisfied and strangely empty, nothing but the feeling he was forgetting something important. A loud, booming laugh from the other side of the room forced its way through the fuzz of his mind. He turned to look, squinting at a face he was sure he'd seen before... It was Thor, the foreigner he and Erik had – he had met in France. Laughing with him were two more familiar faces: Mr Stark and Mr Rogers, fingers looped together on the table top, mindless of whoever happened to look their way.

The barman cleared his throat in irritation, asking Charles again what he wanted to drink.

He didn't answer.

_And my head told my heart let love grow,_

_But my heart told my head this time no,_

_This time no._

AN: This took a little while, mainly because my friend's horse threw me off and I landed on my shoulder and bruised it up big time, so typing was a bit of an issue. This sound familiar? Oh yeah, that's because THAT'S WHAT HAPPENS IN CHAPTER FOUR OF THS FREAKING STORY WTF. I am so sorry I made that happen to you Charles, it hurts like a motherbitch. Karma. Also, I had no Erik to carry me home. Not fair.

Lyrics are from Mumford and Sons _White Blank Page_ (one of my faves) and _Winter Winds_, respectively.


	10. Chapter 10

Erik was not a patient man. Although, if asked, most people of his acquaintance would say otherwise due to his ability to hide impatience under a flawless veneer. He could hide almost anything under this sheen; this protective layer that he had perfected. He supposed it was partly because of Emma – she was able to see inside his head so clearly, it comforted him that he could at least take control over what the rest of the world saw. However, since he was currently alone in a stagecoach on his way to London, there was no one to witness him running his hand through his hair, checking his pocket watch every five minutes and tugging at the knotted scarf at his neck.

It took him a while to notice the coin he was turning over absently in his hand – or around his hand to more accurate – easing its way in and out of his fingers, coiling around his palm. Reluctantly, he slipped it back into his pocket. They were his favourite thing to manipulate, coins. They were small, and light, beautifully worked. Inconspicuous.

He didn't know what his plan was for when he reached London. He had no idea where Charles would be exactly, or how to even go about finding him. Some part of him hoped Charles would feel his mind, draw them together. That he wouldn't run. Foolish really; it was a big thing to request, considering Charles clearly wanted solitude, and Erik refused to give it to him. But the alternative was more than he could bear to linger over.

He had considered asking Emma to come with him, to use her mind to seek out his. She'd turned him down as soon as the words had formed in his head; partly because she'd exhausted herself reaching for Charles in the first place, and partly because she insisted that if they were meant to be together, they would find each other without any further assistance. Erik had called her a cold bitch, but had still given her a tentative hug before he left for London. They still had a long way to go before he could love her again.

He would settle for simply talking to the man, if that was all he could get. Or that was what he told himself at least. He was in love with Charles – no matter how foreign that particular emotion was to him – Emma was correct. He loved him, and would try his hardest to respect his wishes, even if that involved them never speaking again. He would go if Charles told him to, if he convinced Erik that was what he truly wanted, nothing less. Good God, what on earth had become of him? Pushing that bitter-tasting possibility from his thoughts, he instead reached out to mentally touch all the metal within his reach. His mind brushed over the metal on his person – pocket watch, coins – various components of the carriage amid groaning wood, buckles on the horses' harnesses, small and bright, holding straining leather, the solid dullness of iron horseshoes. Charles would have revelled in it, marvelling at Erik's ability to differentiate between the metals, encourage him to shape and work his gift to its full potential. Squeeze his hand and show him the bright, unguarded smile Erik had come to love most of all.

He abruptly severed his contact with the metals and closed his eyes against the sunset coming through the carriage window.

Charles once again reached for the carriage driver's mind, planting the suggestion that he should urge the horses faster. He didn't like to do so too often, for the sake of the driver's privacy and the welfare of the beasts. His guilt was outweighed however, by his urge to get back home, to fix the ridiculous mess he'd left behind in his childish running away. Or that's what he told himself. As much as he wanted to make things right with Moira and Raven, he was well aware it was in fact Erik driving his decision.

When he'd seen Misters Stark and Rogers again... well. If they could be together, why couldn't he and Erik? That is, if Erik would even speak to him still after his stupid display. Never mind that – he wouldn't be surprised if the shame of them being discovered together would be enough to make Erik shut him out completely. He loved the man, that much was painfully obvious, and he wasn't sure if he'd be able to let him go so easily. They would never be able to live peacefully together, as a man and his wife would. There would be vicious rumours of course, but usually the sort of people Charles had to spend time with were at least courteous enough to gossip behind his back. He could see it now: old Mrs Curtis whispering rapidly to anyone who would listen about the unsavoury relationship between Misters Xavier and Lehnsherr. It was quite enjoyable actually. He liked to think he could trust the staff of Xavier manor enough to live with the truth, but he knew enough about people to know this was unlikely. As much as he tried to put on a brave face, it pained him to think that all of the most wonderful things in his life had to be kept secret – his own gift, and those belonging to Raven and Erik. The giddy happiness when he caught Erik staring at him. To have to hide love was something he wouldn't wish on anyone. The only thing that kept him going sometimes was the hope that, perhaps one day, society would change.

Outside the carriage window, the sky was getting darker. He wouldn't be home tonight at any rate, and he doubted Erik would appreciate him turning up in the middle of the night. Once more pushing his lingering guilt aside, he brushed the carriage driver's mind. Apparently they were half an hour from the nearest stop. That would do, he supposed. At the very least, it could surely provide him with a better night's sleep than inside the rocking carriage. He'd need sleep to be able to deal with tomorrow. He settled back to watch the changing sky, once more closing off his mind to everyone's thoughts but his own.

It was dark by the time the stagecoach reached its final stop that day. If it was up to Erik they would have travelled through the night, but fresh horses were needed, and it was likely more passengers would want to board. A few hours sleep wouldn't hurt, he supposed, if he could get them. Even if sleep evaded him, he could at least procure a room to rest in for the night. The coach slid to a rocky halt outside the wobbly looking inn and stables that, along with the few other rambling buildings, made up the stop. As Erik climbed from the carriage, he was met with the usual shouts and raucous laughter one frequently encountered at such stops, a sign that a long night of drinking and revelry was in store, despite the early start a majority of the patrons would no doubt be facing. He stretched out his aching joints, willing the cramped muscles into a more human form than the hunched one he had adopted inside the confined carriage walls. The evening lamps had been lit; their sickly glow causing the buildings and their occupants to appear even more untrustworthy than Erik already suspected. He made his way quickly through the stumbling men and tightly laced women to the inn itself, to secure a room. After a brief conversation and exchange of coins for keys with the surly man behind the desk, Erik nodded his thanks and went back out into the night, in search of some distraction to while away the remainder of the evening. In situations such as this in the past – making the necessary but tedious stops while travelling – he would find a young man willing to share his body for a few coins in some discreet backroom or alley. There were more men that shared his preference than the public generally liked to admit, and in places such as this, there was always someone who understood. And by understood, he meant someone who wouldn't spit at you in disgust, but instead give you a wink and a price. Tonight however, and in his current state of mind, the idea of another held no appeal. He would have to settle for drink.

He turned to the small tavern attached to the inn, at once regretting it when met with the mindless noise and smell of spilt ale. Well, it was no more or less than what could be expected, and he'd coped with worse before. It was the sort of place he could once have relished his solitude, but now all he felt was alone, separate through bad luck and stupid mistakes rather than choice. Fixing his standard glare on his face, he cleared his way to the bar and ordered a drink. A woman sidled up to him, pretty enough – bright eyes and breasts practically spilling over the top of her corset. Having now worn one himself, the sight disturbed him, though whether it was discomfort or arousal he found it hard to say. With that memory flooded back the image of Charles, lips around his cock, hands scrabbling at Erik's corset laces. The girl said something. Shaking the memory off, he bluntly sent the woman on her way, ignoring the hurt look she gave him. Charles would have reprimanded him for his rudeness, were he there. But he wasn't, which was entirely the problem in the first place. Not content with ruining other men for him, Mr Xavier had apparently ruined women for Erik as well. Damn the man.

Erik found himself unable to sit amongst people any longer, their faces, their voices, their everything seemed beyond his endurance. Leaving what money he owed for the drink on the bar, he ventured back into the cold air. Another coach pulled up outside the inn from the direction in which he was he was headed, from London. The driver swung down, patting the sweaty neck of the closest horse, before pulling open the carriage door to let the passengers out. There was only one it seemed – a man in a dark coat, like Erik dishevelled with travel. He turned to smile his thanks to the driver, and though it was but a fraction of the brilliant smile Erik had often witnessed, there was no mistaking it.

Charles.

It was one of those moments you don't think are possible until they happen to you. One of those moments when time stands still, when your eyes lock with someone else's and you can't look away, every other detail around you becomes an insignificant blur next to their face. And so that moment was for Charles.

Erik's face caught his eye, body just as unmoving as his own, and still Charles couldn't quite believe it. Cautiously, he opened his mind, dissolving the barriers he had kept raised since leaving his home in a panic several days ago. He felt them then; the rush of tired or drunken minds of those around him, and cutting through them all, the sharp glint of Erik's. He didn't know how much he'd missed the touch of his mind until that point, when once more it melded with his own.

Erik's face hardened with the contact, as stern in the baleful lamplight as when they first met, and along with it a spark of anger that Charles should have expected. Forcing his face into what he hoped was indifference, he wove his way through those lingering in the cold towards Erik.

"Charles." His voice was cold and sharp, like his shuttered face, and if Charles didn't know him better, he'd be worrying whether Erik was about to strike him.

"Erik." To his annoyance, the crack in his voice was clear as day. But this may not have been a bad thing – he felt Erik's anger dull a little when he spoke. The metal bender didn't replay however, just closed one firm hand around Charles' forearm, and marched stiffly towards a dark gap between two buildings, pulling the other with him. The second they were out of sight, Erik turned to face Charles, releasing his arm. The anger was gone from his face and from his mind, replaced with a buzz of nerves and desperation.

"What the hell were you thinking Charles? What on earth possessed you to leave in such a manner?"

And Charles honestly wasn't sure how to even begin to answer that question.

"After that complete... _mess_ we got ourselves into, I cannot believe the best solution you could come up with was to just up and leave."

"Erik I – " Charles could feel the coins in his pocket humming with Erik's distress. It was wonderful to feel it again, despite the unnerving circumstances.

"After everything." Erik was murmuring now, forehead pressed to Charles', their breath clouding together in the cold air between their faces. "I cannot believe that you would leave me." He kissed him then, softly, a press of cold lips different in every way to their first kiss, hot and rushed. Charles let him. More than that – he kissed him back, bringing one chilled hand to rest on Erik's cheek. They pulled apart gently when a small smile came to Erik's lips. "You haven't run from me screaming yet. I take that as a good sign."

"Yes." What else could he say?

"But I suppose I must say what I planned to, when I found you." He pulled away, remorse dulling the smile that had graced his features just moments ago. "While I can guess that you take as much joy in seeing me again as I do you, I am well aware of the problems that would arise from us... our being together. So I want you to know this Charles," his hand twitched at his side, as though to reach out and touch him, but changing his mind at the last second, "I love you. And I believe you love me. In my mind, that is reason enough to be together, hang everything else. But I know you're not the selfish being I am," and Charles' heart broke at Erik's poor opinion of himself, "and that there are others in your life whose happiness is important to you, as well as mine." He had been looking at the ground as he spoke, but now lifted his gaze to Charles' own, worry evident across his brow no matter how much Charles knew he was trying to hide it. "As much as it pains me, I will let you go, if that is what you want. Free to go back to your sister, your home, and try to make something of your life, out of the mess I left it in, and have something better than I could give you."

Charles stared at him, mind working furiously through his own thoughts, and some of Erik's, yet he still had no idea what to say. A part of him was still unable to believe that this man, who had been so distant and cold when they first met, was capable of making him feel so warm, loved. Words still failing him, a rarity in itself, Charles settled for what sometimes seemed to work best with Erik – touch. He stepped forward and placed the tips of his fingers on Erik's cheek. "My friend, only you could be so gloriously blunt and clear-cut about love."

Erik said nothing, evidently unsure in which direction Charles was heading, but remained tense under his touch, like a horse ready to bolt.

Charles smiled sadly and brought both his hands up to rest along Erik's jaw and neck. "Well then, since you bared your soul so bravely, I suppose it's only fair I do the same." He felt Erik's mood shift; the small, barely there at all spark of hope got a little brighter. "You're right." A shard of hurt ran through Erik then, and Charles wished he could at least have looked away from his face, so he didn't have to see it reflected there too. "No, Erik, listen. That's not what I mean." Without making a conscious decision to, he began to stroke the back of Erik's head. "You're right – I do want to make things right with Raven, and with Moira, if she can ever find it in herself to forgive me." He felt himself wince; if she spoke to him ever again it would be more than he deserved. "But I want you. I want you to be mine, and me to be yours. Entirely yours. And I cannot quite see what's so selfish about that. People have had worse reason to be together, in the past. So, I will willingly give my life to you Erik, if you'll have me." It was Erik's turn to stare. "It was stupid of me to let you go Erik. I don't have any intention of doing so again."

Erik looked for a moment like he didn't believe him. And _no_ Charles was not going to ruin this again. Reaching out tentatively with his mind, he poured into Erik how he felt: a rush of hope, love, desire, comfort, and prayed that he could believe it. That was the moment Erik chose to kiss him, and all his mental processes were shot to pieces. There was only Erik: cold, slightly chapped lips, one hand on the small of his back and another at the back of his head, pulling him close but not close enough, not ever. There was a vague and distant part of him that worried some passerby would spot them and make something of it, but then he recalled that two men in a dark alley was probably a common occurrence here of all places, and also that he couldn't care less.

_Love, it will not betray you, _

_Dismay or enslave you_

_It will set you free,_

_Be more like the man_

_You were made to be._

AN: This took ages because resolutions are hard to write, and because I went to France. Just for the day, but was still nice. This makes two (previously unplanned) things that have happened to me that also happen in this fic. Now, seriously, where is my Erik?

That is officially the end of the story, but there shall be an epilogue, because I like my loose ends tied up, and I don't think they've had enough sex yet.

Lyrics from Mumford and Sons _Sigh No More_.


	11. Chapter 11: Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

"Good morning." Charles had Erik pressed loosely up against the bar, face to face and a hand resting on the polished wood each side of Erik's hips.

"Indeed," Erik replied with the quirk of a smile, unmoving.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

_You know perfectly well what you smug bastard_. "Do I not get a kiss good morning?"

Erik leant forward, bringing his lips close to Charles', and – "You've already had one." So close.

Charles huffed in mock irritation. "And who are you to say I don't get another? I shall take one, if I have to." He leant forwards to capture Erik's lips with his own, only for Erik to lean back over the bar leaving a large gap between their mouths, but bringing their hips closer together. Overbalancing slightly, Charles placed a hand on Erik's stomach, fingers meeting a familiar firm structure through the fabric of his shirt. He groaned – in irritation or longing it was hard to say – it was always more difficult to concentrate on the day's work when he knew Erik was wearing _that_ under his shirt. He might have guessed – every inch of Erik's body and mind was projecting a certain kind of smugness; the type reserved for when he knew he had Charles in the palm of his hand.

"Honestly," Charles whispered, "you know what it does to me, knowing you're all dressed up, all day, without letting me see." He nipped Erik's chest through his shirt, the furthest he could reach in their current position over the bar. He felt Erik's rumble of agreement under his hand.

"Yes, well," Erik leant forward so they were once again upright against the bar, "you shall just have to deal with it won't you." He gave Charles the kiss he had asked for then, too soft and too hard and the most wonderful thing in the world.

"You two really need to do that someplace people can't see you."

They pulled apart to see Darwin, holding a tray of clean glasses and wearing a lazy smile. "It's too early in the morning for that shit, it'll scare customers away."

"No it won't," a voice came up from the square hole in the floor leading to the cellar, "they like it. If anything it'll bring more in."

"Morning, Sean." Charles offered the gap in the floor a smile.

"Morning boss. Besides, we've all seen worse than that when Charles has been drinking. And they've all probably got up to worse in the back room." Charles knew for a fact that people got up to worse in the back room, thanks to his gift.

"Piss off Sean." Erik broke away from Charles to slam the trapdoor shut, ignoring the indignant squawk from the boy on the other side. Charles swatted Erik's arm, but everyone knew it was only for show, half meant, as was the irritation Erik put on in front of those he and Charles hired to work for them.

They had bought the tavern almost a year ago now, a modest building just outside Dusseldorf, where Erik had grown up. It was largely Erik's past connections with the country that had led them to choose Germany; he could speak the language and knew certain parts of it well. Charles had learnt as much as he could as quickly as he could – when Erik was feeling particularly vindictive, he would refuse to communicate with Charles in any way but German, forcing him into the language. It had worked rather well.

As both of them had significantly large sums of money to their names, the purchase of the place had not been a problem. But trying to establish a business in a country where they knew next to no one had been more difficult. Much to Erik's annoyance, Charles had one day grinned and produced a small slip of card, on which was written a contact address for Mr Tony Stark. He had proved a valuable contact; both on the financial front and spreading the word that the small tavern in Germany was a place of welcome for those considered different, discriminated against and told 'their type' wasn't wanted here. It started slowly at first, an occasional lost soul looking for somewhere they didn't have to hide. But soon this became a steady trickle, until they were inundated with people from all over the world, with all kinds of stories to tell. Most, like Misters Stark and Rogers, just called in from time to time to take a break from it all, to escape any judgement or persecution for a while. Even Logan, the surly barman they had met in France, turned up to give the place a once-over and demand a beer on the house. Erik decided he was only there for free drink and to check out the competition, despite their establishments being hundreds of miles apart and in different countries. But there were some who chose to stay, feeding Charles' habit of taking in strays. Erik blamed this on the fact that he no longer had Raven so close by to worry over. It had led to their increase in 'staff,' though what they actually paid them for, Erik wasn't so sure. He was convinced Darwin was the only one who actually did any work. Sean might be coerced into doing something useful, before his attention span ran away from him again. Alex and Angel... well, Erik didn't _entirely_ dislike them. If Charles ever caught the tiny glow of happiness within Erik when he thought of their new family, he pretended not to notice.

_Dear Charles,_

_I know I have not written to you for weeks now, but what did you expect of me? I've been terribly busy. You go off with Erik and leave me to run the manor all by myself, I never knew there were so many things to be taken care of. But I've never been happier, and I mean that. Well, apart from you not being here, I suppose. How on earth you managed to persuade the solicitor to put the estate under my name I've no idea. Except that's a lie, I know exactly how you did it – your 'powers of persuasion,' of course. Honestly._

_I am sure you will be pleased to hear that Dr McCoy, or Henry as I may now call him, has at last asked me to marry him. What a relief it is not to tiptoe around the subject any longer. I do love him dearly, but he is not one to openly say how he feels. You are coming home for the wedding, you understand. And so is Erik, if only because I know how he dislikes social occasions, and I do enjoy watching him squirm. And another thing – I'm afraid Henry has fooled us all this entire time. He is gifted, as we are. Although his ability is perhaps easier to hide than mine. I shall not tell you what he can do, but leave you guessing until you come here for yourself, and let your quest for knowledge be an incentive to hurry you up._

_Your loving sister, forever and always,_

_Raven_

_Erik,_

_I am writing, as ever, to inform you that you are once again due to visit. I can keep people's questions at bay by politely telling them that you are away on business in Europe, but they do need to see you every once in a while. It keeps the gossips satisfied, I suppose. Don't reply as you did last time – that I can use my gift to persuade them of your presence. Although that is well within my ability, I do enjoy how well you play the part of doting husband. Also, Charles is one of the few people I know who is capable of sensible conversation. God knows the men I bring to my bed are not. _

_Your loving wife,_

_Emma._

_Mr Xavier,_

_I do hope you and Mr Lehnsherr are in good health. I mean that._

_My father forbid my writing to you, but he does not know me at all if he expects me to stick to such a ridiculous rule. I got your current address from your sister, in the end. I do miss her company, and hope we shall call on each other more in the future. I must congratulate her on her engagement. _

_I am once again engaged myself. I thought you would want to know by my hand, rather than hearing it through someone else. He has big business plans in America. So who knows, I may escape this cold and dreary country yet._

_These past months without speaking to you have been painful Charles, and I hope you will write me back, so we can find comfort in each other, as we used to._

_Your friend,_

_Moira._

It was dark, and the tavern was full, as it often was. Erik and Charles had left the bar under the care of Darwin, in the hope that he could keep some order. But Alex's younger brother Scott was staying with them for a few days, and between the Summers siblings, the hope of a damage free evening was dim. They would be lucky if the walls were still standing, come morning.

"You would think," said Erik, swinging the bedroom door shut behind them and locking it with a wave and a flick of his hand, "that by now we could leave the room without the winks and leering those cheeky bastards give us."

Charles smiled and lay back on their bed. "You can hardly blame them after last time. You caused nearly every piece of metal in the building to collapse in on itself."

"Yes and you nearly sent every patron into spontaneous orgasm." He smirked. "You need to work on your projection. Unless, that is, you enjoy the fact that they know what we're doing."

"And what might that be?"

Erik grinned at him, a smile with far too many teeth that tended to intimidate most people. But for Charles it usually signified a lengthy session locked in their bedroom, his hands twined above his head through the introduction of Erik's gift to the metal headboard. The night they'd figured out that particular use for Erik's metalbending was spectacular to say the least.

"Look for yourself."

An invitation into Erik's mind was never turned down. Charles did so, and was faced with a long list of things Erik apparently had planned for them that evening. Erik was closer then, looking down at Charles as he swung a leg over to straddle him. He leant to kiss him, their chests pressed together, in a way that started soft and slow, affectionate, that soon progressed to something more forceful, nipping at lips and necks in a challenge to one-up each other. Erik took Charles hands and forced them up above his head, the man underneath him arching up in pleasure. He knew Charles enjoyed being restrained through Erik's gift, so he did not do so, for precisely that reason.

"You bloody tease," said Charles, and blew in Erik's face.

Erik only laughed in response, and let go of Charles' hands to peel off his shirt, sliding his hands up the other's chest, thumbs brushing his nipples. Charles bit his lip to keep in a moan, lifting himself so Erik could remove the shirt fully. The rest of their clothing followed quickly, leaving Charles naked and Erik in nothing but the corset, hidden all day under his shirt. Charles reached up to touch, running his fingertips over the slightly coarse cream fabric, bumping over the corset boning, finally placing his open hands on Erik's trim waist. Erik hummed with anticipation, and the metal clasps of the corset along with him. He leant to kiss Charles, but instead found a finger pressed to his lips. He raised an eyebrow in question.

"Up."

"What?"

"Stand up. Now." Charles' face was stern, but the light in his eyes said otherwise.

"If you wish it." Erik pulled himself away from Charles and up from the bed, to stand on the worn floorboards.

"_Sir."_

"Yes, sir."

The smile on Charles face now as he stood was Erik's favourite; the one that made him simultaneously want to kick the man and crush him tight to his chest. "We'll take it off today, I think." He leant closer, his breath brushing Erik's ear. "I want the pleasure of unlacing you myself." Moving to stand behind Erik, he placed a kiss on the back of his neck and briefly ran his hands over the corset once more. He gently eased the knot at the end of the laces – simple and efficient, Erik had clearly tied it himself – and began to work them loose. He pulled the laces away completely, enjoying the snick as they passed through each eyelet. It would be hell to re-lace later, but for now he had other concerns. Laces on the floor, he opened up the main body of the corset and lifted it away, casting it aside. He moved closer then, closed his eyes, running his hands along Erik's back and shoulders, dipping in at his waist, narrow even without the aid of female undergarments, over the swell of his backside. He pressed himself against Erik's back, smiling at the tremor that went through his lover at the touch, his chest on his back and his cock against his behind. Without warning, he reached around to grasp Erik's erection, satisfied with the sharp intake of breath it caused. He began to work Erik's cock, slowly, with his hand, pressing soft kisses along his shoulder, anywhere he could reach. Through the rush of lust clouding Erik's mind, there was also a thread of determination.

_Erik,_ he poured his words directly into the other's head, _I know you're holding in your pleasure on purpose. Come, moan for me. _

He did so, a groan deep in his chest that made Charles grab Erik by the shoulders and spin him around, bringing their mouths firmly together. He felt Erik's hands curl tightly in his hair as he moved his kisses further down, along Erik's jaw and collarbone, his chest and stomach, pausing just long enough to breath lightly over his cock before moving to the side, and kissing up his thigh. He felt Erik's frustration both in his mind and in the tense set of his body. He smirked into the crease of Erik's thigh and ignored it, instead moving up to run his tongue along Erik's left hipbone. It was his favourite place to hold on to. He sank his teeth into the skin there, sucking hard enough to ensure he left a mark. He knew Erik was not fond of being marked where others could see, but that still left an awful lot of body for Charles to work with. He pulled back, and admired the red mark he'd made with his mouth. He stood straight, still pointedly ignoring Erik's cock, to place a small kiss on his lips.

"Do you want to, or shall I?"

"Hmm." He could hear Erik running it through in his head, weighing out the possibilities. "I think I will tonight. You've been an utter bastard the last half hour, and I intend for you to pay for it."

"You cannot deny you enjoyed it."

"No." Erik smiled. "I cannot." He gave Charles one more lingering kiss before nudging him on to the bed. "Hands and knees. Now."

Charles did so, being sure to cast a smirk over his shoulder. He felt the mattress dip as Erik joined him, one hand covering his own on top of the sheets, body pressed along his back. Erik kissed his way down Charles' back, squeezing his hand every so often. He reached the curve of Charles' backside, and untangled their hands so he had both free to touch, palming and pressing him, mouth tantalisingly close to where Charles' wanted it – needed it – to be. Charles flinched when he felt the cool metal of the headboard winding its way around his wrists, curling and twisting nearly up to his forearms in a pattern resembling the original, holding him fast.

_I know how much you like it._ Erik's words in his mind.

_You're wonderful._

With that, Erik changed tactic and pressed hard against him, hot and tense, and nipped at his ear. Charles felt Erik, _all_ of him, tight along his back, hand reaching for the bottle they kept on the table next to the bed. He was practically purring as he slipped a slick finger into Charles, the latter arching back into him as much as his bonds would allow. The divide between Charles' and Erik's minds was hazy with want, each feeling the other's pleasure as well as his own. Charles was lost to himself as Erik worked on him, not coming back to himself, to them, until he felt the fingers leave him and Erik's cock take their place. He groaned half in joy and half in pain, still not entirely used to this practice, even after all the time they'd been together. Erik paused for a moment, allowing them both to adjust to the sensation, peppering Charles' neck and shoulders with kisses. Charles pushed back against him, let him know he was ready, and Erik began to move inside him, slow and deliberate with every movement.

"Oh Charles," Erik's voice came from a spot just behind Charles' ear, "how lucky I am to have you."

"Mhmm. Yes, you are."

"All mine. There's no one in the world could please you as I do." A long, wet kiss where his neck met his shoulder. "The man you told me about – the one you kissed in that alleyway by the inn – did you think of me?" Charles felt one of Erik's arms sneak around him and take hold of his cock. "When he ran his hands over you, claimed your mouth, did you pretend it was me? Me, holding you against the wall in some filthy backstreet to do with you whatever I wished?"

Charles' groaned and Erik's movements became faster, sloppy and frantic, as Charles' pushed back to meet him time and time again. He felt Erik tense above him with a sharp breath, his body still with the exception of the hand still working Charles. He felt the rush of _want-love-beautiful-mine-yours-us_ from his lover's head, and it was all too much, as it always was.

His breathing heavy, Erik rolled off him, and Charles pulled him close, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Charles had always thought that when he eventually settled down with a partner, it would be times like this, twisted together in cooling sheets, that he would feel happiest. It turned out not to be the case. Although he very much enjoyed holding Erik close to him in their bed, it was the things they could do together in the presence of others that pleased him most. It could be something simple, like sharing a carriage into town or visiting the tailor. It could be something more meaningful, like a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth when they were tending the bar, amid whistles and shouts from their somewhat enthusiastic staff and patrons. He had been content with his old life, yes, but he used to feel so alone, sometimes. Despite Raven, despite Moira. He could be standing in a room full of people, and feel desperately isolated. But when Erik was there – be it a brush with his mind, a smile, or the light touch of fingers on the inside of his wrist – it was always served as a solid reminder: he was not alone.

_You are not alone in this._

_You are not alone in this._

_As brothers we will stand _

_And I'll hold your hand,_

_Hold your hand._

**END**

**AN:** Alright, so the ending is less regency romance and a bit more just shagging, but I regret nothing.

Regardless of the slightly dodgy sex at the end, I hope you enjoyed my ramblings, and thanks to everyone who read/favourited/reviewed.

And thanks to Mumford and Sons, who unwittingly provided much inspiration for this, as well as the title and all song lyrics used from their album _Sigh No More_. The lyrics in this chapter are from the song _Timshel,_ which I know I've used already, but I think they're pretty relevant to close on, and one of the reasons I wrote this in the first place.

I also ask that you forgive any blaring historical inaccuracy – I tried.


End file.
